


Christmas Minis

by nandroidtales



Category: Emmy The Robot (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28168152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandroidtales/pseuds/nandroidtales
Kudos: 6





	Christmas Minis

"A Truce" - Decmber 1st

“Major Morrison, sir, we’ve more wounded from the dressing stations!”  
“Thank you Lieutenant Taylor,” the older man returned. “Rosemary please attend to the ambulances!”  
“Right away sir,” the little robot peeped. Her and her several dozen near-identical sisters rushed outside with litters in hand, their mechanical arms ferrying in the worst of the wounded as those able to walk strolled in to await triage. In the span of minutes another ambulance full was unloaded and the robots began sorting the men. The ghoulish injuries they saw never ceased to terrify them, protective circuits meant for a child’s scraped knee sent into overload each time. Rosemary had managed in her months there to drown out the droning reports of artillery and distant chatter of small arms fire, but never the moaning of the worst wounded who’d arrived. In as many minutes as it took to unload an ambulance another would arrive and they’d repeat the process, sending those near death onwards to the evacuation hospitals - there’d be no hope for a speedy recovery and a return to the front when a man was out a leg or an arm.  
As each day would wind down the robots switched from triage duty to tending the wounded, those expected not to supersede the two weeks convalescence that would send them further from the front and likely home. It was here they shined, their innate sense to nurture and care manifesting in purpose-made nurses, even if they’d been drafted out of the richer households back home. It was a comfort to them to be able to soothe these men’s pain and was, at times, all that could keep them going, the constant fatigue of martial violence too much for them and their human counterparts. As night descended, and the men were asleep, they’d gather together quietly and begin making preparations for the next day of work, always busy.  
Tonight though was different, the round-the-clock roar of the furnace kept the chill of Winter, standing in drifts against the canvas tents, at bay. The nandroids, now hanging decorations quietly for Christmas Eve, wanted to offer the warmth of home that the boys under their care were missing. Wind lashed the sprawling tents, cloth sides thumping in and out like drum-skins as they shook the pine branches and bits of greenery they’d collected up for the soldiers. They tiptoed around the snoring men, each cloaked in a dense woolen blanket swaddling them, the nandroids having taken care to tuck in the more incapacitated of the bunch. Burning more energy to keep warm in the frigid mud outside was risky, yes, but well worth it to see the men smile again. They’d streamed back from the front weary-eyed and dazed, silent save for the chattering of teeth or the odd wince from a shrapnel wound. Their work complete, they settled down for the night, huddled near the fireside in each of the tents, ready to leap to action at a moment’s notice.  
But no such action came. The passive heat of the wood fires filled them with energy again, and the daily motions to churn their dynamo only served to double their quick pace. Tottering around they went to rouse the men for breakfast as daybreak approached, a fresh few inches of snow coating the hospital grounds. Rosemary set to work dividing up the work - a squadron of nurses to shovel, another to assist the mess staff, and even more to make everything ready for the surgeons should there be another ambulance-full of men needing the help. In a matter of an hour or two the camp was in shape again, avenues of packed dirt free again of snow and the men milling about towards the mess hall. Finally able to relax, Rosemary made her way to the Major’s quarters to wake him posthaste, and get new orders.  
“Ah, good morning Rosemary!”  
“S-Sir, you’re already awake!”  
“It’s Christmas Eve girl, there’s no need to be busy now,” he said, “and listen! Do you hear that?” Mechanical ears strained for noise aside from the whistle of the wind and raucous chatter of the men outside, and it dawned on her - there was no constant report of cannon or rifle fire.  
“Sir!”  
“Yes, Rosemary, yes. It seems things will be quiet today, at the very least. I’ve made sure of it as best I could, I hope.”  
“I don’t follow, sir.” The man nodded to the small adjunctory room for the other officers where lay, snoring and messy-headed, a runner from the sector command. Drunkenly unconscious in a cot the Major had snatched up he was sleeping off a night of revelry with the hospital officers, his orders unfortunately missing for when he should awake.  
“I do have some work for you, though. The healthier men, as you know, are about ready to return to the front,” he frowned. “I’d like them to be there with their friends for the Christmas festivities at least. Only a few dozen or fit enough but I’ve made an ambulance free for you to take them.”  
“Major I-”  
“You *can* drive, correct?” Rosemary nodded, years of chauffeuring the Mister and Missus made her a better vehicle operator than most. “Excellent. I’ve already alerted the men and they should, ideally, be milling about waiting for you right now. They’ve taken to you most heavily so I figured it should be you.”  
Stepping back outside a large handful of men, now free of their dressings save for a bandage here or a pair of crutches there sat expectantly eyeing the robot before them. The congregation smiled and followed along behind her as they piled into the ambulance truck, and they were on their way through the snow to the dressing stations beyond. A mile or so down the road and they’d come to the dressing stations where, to her dismay, a handful of men were limping in with bandages about their legs. Stopping the ambulance the men poured out and quickly started chatting with their comrades, this was as far as they could be driven. Rosemary briefly stepped in to inquire about the condition of the men inside, anxiously expecting gruesome injuries sustained by a Hun sneak attack on Christmas Eve.  
“No ma’am, frostbite,” the acting sergeant said. The fact that the men weren’t dressing warm enough was even worse to her, somehow. Nonetheless she gathered the boys for the last few hundred yards’ walk to the trenches to meet with their companions.  
Arriving in the reserve trench there was an eerie and swallowing quiet before bursts of laughter emerged from over the top of the front-line trench. The men quickened their pace and were ready to go over the top as they had so many times before, Rosemary offering a hand for the weaker men to step up. Out in the barren field between there were hundreds of men swarming around, laughing and smoking and singing together. The men had commandeered from the woods a pine sapling which was ornamented with bits of metal or shell casings, and it served as one of the goal posts for the game of soccer they’d broken into when someone produced a ball. The wounded men flocked to their friends, a week or two’s separation already too much. In broken German they introduced them to their new companions. Rosemary made herself scarce for fear of infringing on the men’s trades but, to her half-chagrin and half-joy, was repeatedly called to referee the games and translate. Her knowledge of German and French and more made negotiating exchanges of tobacco or spirits a lot smoother and the constant call for her, eventually from the Germans as well, kept her pleasantly on her feet.  
As the night returned one of the officers stood aside his German counterpart, watch in hand, as they both counted down midnight. A low murmur among the men slowly turned to a gentle hum as they embraced each other again. The men kept to the same melody as they sang Stille Nacht side by side, the grey skies scattering in random places to reveal the rich black sky beyond. Rosemary couldn’t help but join in the rousing tune, switching between English and German for the sake of the men as the song came to an end, and the festivities as well. Returning to the trenches Rosemary felt the stirring of Christmas in her heart, knowing she’d have to stay the night for risk of driving the men back in the dark. It was no issue for her, though; the men would have time to rest among their friends and she could do some work here tidying up for the Christmas celebrations she didn’t doubt would come tomorrow morning. Settling down next to one of the ovens she cozied up, getting as much energy as she could while she readied for tomorrow, the macabre memories of yesterday disappeared for the time being as she thought of the humanity of the season and the love behind it.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Amy's Christmas" - December 2nd

>It was December again  
>Amy had been with the Khatris and their son for four years, same as all her friends from school  
>Every year Christmas was a big deal in the Khatri household, family coming from halfway across the globe to visit  
>spending weeks in preparation was no surprise as you ready the home (and pantry) for the flood of relatives from across both the Atlantic and Pacific  
>expectations were high as she stocked up on every individual’s favorite snacks and beverages  
>not to mention getting ingredients in bulk to make enough food for everyone for Christmas dinner  
>the relative chaos of the Holiday season was only mitigated by the surprising division of labor in the Khatri household  
>the Mister made it very clear that the arrangements for sleeping and feeding family were on her  
>a number of unfortunate slips-of-the-tongue made Amy somewhat undesirable for handling the buying and wrapping of presents, even considering the extra dozen or so family members who’d be arriving  
>“It’s enough to be making dinner for the whole family, we can handle the gifts.”  
>This seemed reasonable enough, at the time  
>What dumbfounded and, frankly, scared her was how so many presents ended up beneath the tree every year  
>And how few were actually from the Khatris as opposed to ‘Santa’  
>This Santa guy was pretty suspicious to her, but Ajay loved him and the whole family seemed to believe in him  
>For the past three years she’d secretly been staying up Christmas Eve night, refraining from charging if only to catch a glimpse of the big man himself  
>Every year she’d failed, drifting off into sleep mode and waking up in her chair as though nothing had ever happened  
>This year would be different though, and Amy knew it  
>She’d made sure to recharge early in the morning and went through the effort of repositioning her chair somewhere nearer the tree in the household  
>Mr. Khatri was adequately confused but not opposed to it; some more room in the basement wouldn’t hurt  
>Amy’s plan was finally coming together  
>Christmas Eve once again the Khatri family had gone to mass and had their dinner, and with no delay went to bed, one by one  
>even Ajay had grown out of trying to *catch* Santa  
>With a smirk Amy sat down to charge, eyes shut and ears open for the creeping of a rotund Arctic man  
>as the hours whittled away, Amy occupying herself with memories of Christmases past or the occasional hummed tune, the creak of floorboards and stomp of boots alerted her  
>Eyes hardly open she watched a shadowy figure approach from the right of the tree, a heap of wrapped gifts in hands  
>Amy silently approaches and grabbed him, much to his shock, sending the man sideways as boxes tumble beneath the tree  
>Beneath the crooked beard and fallen cap is Mr. Khatri, mildly incensed with Amy as she helps him up, apologizing and confused  
>The Mister explains to her that Santa isn’t real, he’s an ideal of charity and compassion, making sure Amy knows the truth  
>Nodding through the explanation, eyes moistening, Amy says she understands  
>Mr. Khatri thanked her for her discretion as he returned to bed and Amy sat back down in her chair, ready to actually sleep, not even bothering to process what she'd been told  
>He didn’t even have a moment to eat the cookies or drink the milk Amy mourned  
>Drifting away she silently worried if she’d ruined Christmas somehow, or perhaps hurt the Mister or even worse Ajay  
>Anxiously she shut down, not even bothering to open her eyes when the chimney erupted in noise, the clatter of boots on bricks and dry shuffling of wood ash not enough to rouse her  
>Finally up again, the dark of Christmas morning consuming her, Amy started to make preparations for the family’s breakfast  
>A crinkling of paper in her breast pocket stopped her though  
>And as she investigated the cookies and milk *had* been taken  
>She quickly ripped the paper from her pocket and flipped open a brief letter, gilded stationery and immaculate penmanship pulling her in  
>The author explained solemnly how, on his schedule, there’d be no time at all to meet with every wayward child staying up each night  
>His line of work was demanding and dependent much on his speediness, lest a child be left without a gift on Christmas morning  
>This meant, unfortunately, putting that number of kids awake at his arrival back to sleep and, in this case, robots as well  
>He did, however, know how crucial believing was to the entire operation and was loath to see that light go out too soon  
>After all, he said, the fewer people who believed the fewer to make and put out cookies and milk  
>Amy smiled and held the paper to her chest as she read the signature at the bottom and the post-script returned a smile to her face  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Bobby's Christmas" - December 3rd

>the Police Department had seen a lot of changes this year  
>the success of the latest foray into robotic officers encouraged even deeper investment into policedroids  
>the Sterling models were the most popular and most useful both on patrol and in investigations as it came to be seen  
>the copdroids were efficient and by-the-book to boot, excellent aids to their human counterparts for situations that needed a less-fallible touch  
>under stress robots like Bobby were cool and unbothered, and were able to resolve high risk situations more favorably  
>all of these changes were, for the time, forgotten though as the officers gathered together, Santa hats askew and mistletoe hung  
>a bottle or two of spirits smuggled in and judiciously mixed with the punch and the guests were quickly loosened and festive  
>even the lieutenant was quickly lubricated, his sweater discarded and tie swung around his neck like a scarf  
>despite the increasingly disorderly conduct of the partygoers there sat alone in the back the department’s singular nandroid-pattern officer  
>first of her kind and without any related companions, Bobby always felt out of place in the department  
>she only felt moderately comfortable around her partner... who was nowhere to be found and was likely, she reasoned, drunk, macking on one of the lady officers  
>she stood in the corner wearing the only Christmas clothes she owned, a cheesy sweater and pair of antlers she’d picked up the day before  
>the relative autonomy afforded her as a robot was fine and all, but buying clothes was something neither she nor her maidly cousins were meant for  
>clutching a drink that was not her own and standing she watched the party games absentmindedly, thinking about reports she needed to write up or her assignments for the coming weeks  
>not to mention the rent and neighbors, but that was about it - not having to eat, or entertain yourself was helpful in some ways  
>but not helpful in trying to find her partner in the increasingly rowdy party  
>Bobby watched in confusion and recoiled at the drunken antics of the officers as they unknowingly splashed each other with their drinks (leaving stains, no doubt)  
>mercifully the lady whose drink Bobby had been guarding emerged from the bathroom, ready to drink again as she took up her cup of punch  
>freed from her bonds Bobby began slipping silently between the other officers, looking for her partner and a quiet place  
>stalking into one of the meeting rooms she spotted him in the corner, speaking with two other cops who she didn’t know  
>to her pleasure there was no undue or inappropriate fraternization and he seemed to be more... arrested than the rest of the attendees  
>he was rosy cheeked and giggly, sure, but still in control enough to notice Sally hanging in the room and excuse himself  
>bunching up the two left the room and she gestured towards the door outside, wanting to take a moment in the cold air beneath the starless city sky  
>squeezing around the assembled congregation they stepped through a back door, where Bobby relinquished from one of her pants-pockets a small box that she handed silently to the man  
>blushing she turned to the side, scooching away a bit on the step where they sat  
>opening it he revealed a small brass pin, twin blue and red stones sitting beside each other and beneath the number of their squad car  
>the little robot peeped in surprise as he grabbed her far shoulder and pulled her close, thanking through slurred words  
>he rushed back inside to Bobby’s surprise, only to emerge again with a similar package in his hands  
>as the robot took and weighed it in her hands she squeezed it, its soft give recoiling slowly  
>neatly ripping the paper free she revealed a rich blue scarf in the same color as her patrol coat, and tastefully embroidered with the department’s arms  
>the two embraced quietly on the steps as a flurry of snow began to drift down  
>wordlessly the two took in the deepening snow, flakes of ice obscuring and twinkling in the lamplight as the man’s breath fogged in the air  
>each little cloud in front of him meted out the time they sat on the porch, unknowingly chilling in the night air but keeping each other warm  
>Bobby had since put on her scarf, wrapping it tight about her neck as the man clipped the little pin to his chest  
>unknown to them a few troublemakers from inside had nefariously hung a sprig of mistletoe on the door’s lintel, a dastardly surprise for whenever they came in  
>that would be a while though, the two mutely taking in the Christmas atmosphere as the streets collected another couple inches of snow  
>it’d be one hell of a surprise for them, no matter the wait  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
North Pole Nandroids - December 4th

>The logistics of preparing each year for Christmas were demanding at best, and near-impossible at worst  
>The unfortunate truth was that more kids were being born (and, to his shock, still believing in him) than the North Pole could keep up with  
>Elves loved their work, absolutely, but there just wasn’t enough of them nor enough hours in a day if they wanted to keep up with demand  
>Santa had to modernize if he wanted to save kids in the coming years from the pain of an empty stocking or presentless tree each December  
>He turned to one of the very small handful of CEOs he’d known since their childhoods  
>Sterling would get the job done, he knew it  
>The issue, he explained, was that too many elves were taken up in the work of running the Pole, instead of making toys  
>Santa figured, based on personal experiences with nandroids, they’d be the ideal candidates to take up all the menial labor of keeping the workshops clean and orderly  
>Not to mention that their robotic love of order and organization would take an extreme load off of the backs of the elven bureaucracy  
>Sterling assured him he’d have a host of them ready and at the Pole in no time, ready to take of their duties in service of Christmas  
>He made sure too that there was no suspicion surrounding such a massive order for nandroids  
>A mutual friend of his and Santa’s in the Mounted Police justifying the transfer as “police modernization”  
>It helped he was an appreciator of robots as much as Sterling, of course  
>In a months time they’d arrived by way of train, ice breaker and (as they neared the pole) their own power  
>The nandroids marched the last several hundred miles through the ice pack on their own, batteries for weeks and cloaked in dense wool coats  
>It was too risky for any human to bring them further  
>After weeks of ardour and a few close calls as temperatures dipped dangerously low, the little robots triumphantly mounted the last humps of sea ice as they broke upon land  
>Barren, snowy terrain betrayed the glimmering lights at the center of the pack, a mass of light like an ocean liner, or perhaps the rising Milky Way, betrayed the North Pole  
>They were but a few hours away from the very locus of all Christmas spirit, eagerly awaiting an escape from the cold and something to clean after weeks without direction  
>Coming to the city entrance they were welcomed, quietly, by a lone Mr. and Mrs. Claus, the jovial pair chattering away as they led them into the city  
>Besides the snow-kissed rooftops it felt as though the whole town was tens of degrees warmer than the brutal tundra beyond  
>Descending into the sprawling factory space of the festive hamlet started to work directing the nandroids to where they’d be working, dead-tired elves shakily thanking them as they went to rest  
>Santa’s lieutenants nervously introduced themselves, wary of handing over jobs they’d held for decades or even centuries to machines  
>A gentle press from the Mister and the promise of being back on the toy line was all they needed, though  
>After a day of lengthy instruction and collective reassurement from both the Missus and the robots themselves, Santa took them all together  
>He couldn’t hold himself back as he embraced all of the tiny robots, now free of the heavier winter clothes and clothed in sweaters and little jackets, thanking them individually for helping him so  
>As he directed them to their purpose-made quarters he thanked them once more for, in his words, saving Christmas  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Avery and Anon at Christmastime - December 5th

>You’ve had your nandroid, Avery, for a decent amount of time  
>Long enough to reasonably say that to call her a “maid” would be an insult and, you knew, earn you a slap across the face  
>The first thing she did upon being turned on was request some kind of clothing other than her standard dress  
>A white tee and gym shorts would suffice, she explained, taking up a broom and getting to work  
>You couldn’t begin to explain your confusion, your vision of a nandroid shattered by the crude and rough robot now tidying your home with the game on in the background  
>Sterling customer support was less than helpful, explaining you’d mistakenly ordered the sport model (whatever that meant)  
>The only part you understood was “no refunds”  
>Noticing your exaggerated anguish over this turn of events you noticed Avery trying in the coming months, vainly most of the time, to try to imitate her more elegant sisters  
>She’d put on her dress sparingly, blushing and uncomfortable, when she made you breakfast  
>Her bonnet was the first thing she tore off months ago, but now she kept it on for you despite having to adjust it every five minutes to keep it in her unkempt hair  
>As Summer turned to Fall the two of you grew… closer  
>Any of your contemporaries or peers would likely berate or jeer at you, but you felt it and Avery felt it too  
>Despite no need for it you started doing your share of the chores again, and you started spending a lot more time with Avery too  
>Under the auspices of shopping for a nonexistent girlfriend who just happened to share Avery’s exact frame the two of you went out to shop for clothing  
>Your relationship was unorthodox by any modern definition, and you would be shunned or even fired were people to find out  
>Worst of all would be if your parents found out, you knew  
>But by God, when you looked into her face and saw her smile, it was worth everything at stake  
>As the two of you approached your first Christmas together the growing cold only made the warmth in your apartment that much more intense  
>One day Avery returns from the department store, a black bag in hand  
>She refuses to reveal her secret package inside, calling it a surprise present for Christmas Day, Christmas Eve if you behaved  
>Knowing Avery’s “pushy” nature, you fill with dread and excitement, eagerly counting down the days to Christmas  
>In the meantime your parents were organizing their own Christmas surprise, unbeknownst to you given the current travel situation as snow storms devastated planes, trains, and buses alike  
>This little reprieve from any parental meddling was a relief, you and Avery soaking up the time between work watching some of your Christmas favorites, baking, or… other activities  
>After weeks of nervous anticipation, it’s Christmas Eve, and Avery says she’s proud of how you’ve behaved  
>She steps away from the living room to change in the bedroom, standing atop some Sterling LegExtenders™  
>Returning was Avery, clad in a less than concealing outfit of yuletide lingerie with a santa hat atop her head  
>The white baby doll was accompanied by fuzzy red trim and panties, rich garnet stockings rising up her legs to just below the hip  
>Sauntering over to you, standing just over your head as opposed to her usual height, she giggles to herself, praising you making her ‘nice list’ this year  
>With one well placed shove she throws you onto the waiting sofa before creeping closer and seating herself on your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck as she pulled you into a kiss  
>The time flew on that couch until a rapturous knock disturbed you both, Avery rolling backwards in shock and you freezing on your feet before running to the peephole  
>Glancing through were the soft faces of your two parents, sweetly smiling as they dawdled outside, chatting quietly  
>“Anon,” your Mom called out, “You home sweetie?”  
>Looking around in shock you wave for Avery to go change, flurried hand signals between the two of you ending with a shrug; it was time for maid-mode  
>Your home was mercifully clean as you let your parents in, Avery throwing you a thumbs-up from the bedroom before rushing to the kitchen  
>Ushering your parents into your apartment you give them a brief tour, ending in the kitchen where you introduce your *maid* Avery  
>Red-faced she returned their greetings, still fidgeting with her bonnet  
>Avery quickly whipped together a meal for the three of you as you visited with them, catching up after an eventful (for you especially) year apart  
>After dinner you retired to your living room, ceding your bedroom to your parents for the duration of their stay as you took the couch and Avery, to her chagrin, a corner in the kitchen where she could be plugged in  
>The next morning, though, your parents were up early watching the television right next to you  
>Avery had already served them coffee, and they were ready to wake you up when you got up on your own  
>They wanted to talk  
>They asked you about a potential girlfriend, to which you replied in the negative  
>And then Avery, your nandroid without kids to care for, in a small apartment, in the city, with nothing to clean and only one person to cook for; she was a necessary helper, you assured them  
>And then, to your and Avery’s horror, the stockpile of women’s clothing in your bedroom closet, and even the errant stockings shed on the floor in the nandroid's haste  
>All of the mounting evidence they laid before you, and on Christmas of all days, consumed your mind  
>You were ready to scream an apology, and Avery was about to break down right then and there  
>Your father had to be the one to deliver the question, as your mother was on the verge of tears  
>“Anon...," he started, grim as ever  
>"...are you gay?”  
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Emmy and Madeline Go Shopping (sorry it's so late!) - December 6th

>Christmas was fast approaching, and the signs were every place  
>Most obvious and central to Emmy was that she no longer had to take Madeline to class five days a week (not to mention her academic clubs the other two)  
>Although Emmy welcomed the change in pace, now having more free time to clean and organize the home, she could tell Madeline was suffering from being stuck at home  
>There was little opportunity between all of the over-holiday assignments for her to go out and be with friends, and it was taking its toll  
>Madeline was staying up too late, sleeping in too late, unable (and sometimes unwilling) to sit down and work  
>Emmy tried to coax her into activity, but to no avail  
>As Christmas came closer Emmy wrangled with ideas to engage Madeline, to take her mind off of anything academic for the time being  
>And then Emmy was presented with a list  
>A monumental list, penned in Angela’s elegant and smooth handwriting, for everything they’d need for Christmas dinner  
>It would be a feast, given that Ted’s side of the family would be arriving to visit, meaning a rough dozen and a half more people to feed  
>Madeline was already ecstatic at the news of seeing aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents she hadn’t seen in years, or for family to meet for the first time  
>There was the chief issue, now, of buying enough stuff, enough raw material, to feed them all  
>Emerging from her room one morning as Emmy put on her coat and was ready to make way for the trolley, Madeline was all dressed and ready to go  
>To Emmy’s surprise she dashed down the stairs and practically yanked her out the door  
>She assured Emmy she’d be the perfect shopping companion, and would save Emmy the trouble of carrying all of those heavy groceries  
>Heaven forbid Emmy have to use her feet to carry anything, Madeline joked  
>A trolley ride later and they arrived at the sprawling supermarket at the south end of Hawthorne Grove  
>The nearby university was empty, all the students gone home for the holidays like Madeline, despite the bits of festive decoration adorning some of the dorm buildings  
>Stepping into the sprawling store Emmy and Madeline started running over the list, each individual item clicking into place in a recipe in the nandroid’s mind  
>Madeline rushed to snag a shopping cart, eagerly waiting while Emmy pored over the list  
>Her in-depth gastronomic analysis done, Emmy took the cart in hand as the two delved into the maze of aisles and displays inside  
>Christmas was a week or so away, the ideal time to avoid the initial rush of early shoppers and the even more frantic rush of Christmas Eve panic-buyers, Emmy mused  
>Swinging from aisle to aisle they went, picking up every implement and item for a picturesque dinner  
>The images of a nice, roast ham, scalloped potatoes, an accompanying turkey, and all manner of desserts (pies apple or pecan, and Emmy was planning a host of more traditional puddings)  
>Their cart was quickly filling up, Emmy neatly ordering and layering whatever Madeline threw in, carefully (and covertly) replacing anything that she shouldn’t be eating or was less than ideal for the recipes in mind  
>Cart full the pair marched on their way to the check out, Madeline practically comatose at the thought of the feast a few weeks ahead  
>Hands loaded with groceries the pair returned home, Emmy struggling still to get the door open as Madeline slipped the keys from her and the two tumbled in  
>Exhausted from their journey, and hungry, too, Madeline proposed cooking at least *something* from their haul - just a taste, she assured Emmy  
>Skillfully the nandroid countered with the classic “what if” and “what about” that were some of her best tools  
>Compromise was too, however, and she offered another favorite of the young lady’s, seizing up ingredients from one of the pantries as she spoke  
>Gingerbread  
>It was the girl’s favorite to make, the parents’ to eat, and Emmy’s to decorate (and clean up, of course)  
>So the two set to work, dinner that night sure to be accompanied by a few daintily (or crudely, depending) iced cookies, and of course Emmy promised to prepare another batch or two, or four, for the guests when they arrived  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Rudoplh, Lulu-dolph (Part 1) - December 7th

>Your work as a robotic behavior specialist for Sterling was… unique at times  
>You’d be an armchair psychiatrist for nandroids who underperformed in class or seemed less than enthused about their work  
>Chiefly you were concerned with perfecting the models used to generate nandroid personalities, helping to keep them unique and individual, yes, but never so far off the Sterling “brand” to make them morose, manic, or worse  
>It also helped in classifying some of the anomalies that would continuously pop out into the general nandroid population despite fixes and patches  
>You and your colleagues had seen and defined a number of tells, like overly rough behavior, or an intense fixation on the arts; most were musical, but you’d seen more nandroids take up doodling, drawing and painting as *hobbies* in recent months - that was the real surprise, hobbies  
>None of these were *negative* by any means, but being able to define them also meant being better able to assign them to families and, on the whole, more job satisfaction for them, and more product satisfaction for customers; a win-win in corporate’s book, and that was typically the biggest decider  
>To make a long story short, though, these advances in behavioral design had led to a new market for Sterling robots; not nandroids, no, but *kid*droids  
>These bite-sized bots were meant for families without or unable to have children, an artificial surrogate that was becoming increasingly common in your time  
>They were an experiment in adaptivity for robots, whether one could learn and mature (with proper initial design) like a human  
>It didn’t hurt that, should they work, prospective parents would need to buy a new frame every few years if they wanted to offer their kid a normal life, an aspect appealing to the company  
>And so you were tasked in “raising” one of them over the course of a year, a year that was rapidly drawing to a close  
>Lucy, or Lulu as she’d taken to being called, was very fond of Christmas time despite it being her first  
>The often demanding and constant workload that this project of Sterling’s carried meant a lot of your time was sent writing reports and testing subtly (at least you tried to) the little robot’s progress  
>Whenever you were overly busy you’d plop her down in front of your television set in the living room, making sure to keep it to PBS or some variety of child-friendly content, though her favorites were the Sesame Street crew and Mister Rogers  
>Being Christmas though most of the major television channels were now full-on in showing festive content and that as long as she stayed off the news channels she’d be fine  
>That was until, however, you heard her crying in the next room as you were filling out another evaluation form to bring to work the next morning  
>Rushing out to assess the commotion, you see Lulu sitting and clutching the TV, bawling her eyes out as she tries to console it  
>Trying to calm her down she points at it and asks why they’re being so mean, to which you turn and see the casual racism of North Pole reindeer  
>She wants to be there to play with Rudolph, she says, pointing at the glass  
>It didn’t help Lulu’s interpretation of it as her own cheeks glowed between her little sobs  
>Gently, carefully, you explain that not everyone is as nice to each other as they ought to be  
>You think about turning the television off and sending her to bed, but her not knowing the ending to the film would likely be worse  
>So you settle into your armchair and sit her in your lap, turning it up a few notches as you recline together  
>She applauded the arrival of Hermey and Yukon, peeped in fear as they were chased rabidly by the Abominable Snow Monster  
>The Island of Misfit Toys quieted her as she watched the three of them - an elf who couldn’t make toys, a reindeer with a red nose, and a prospector who couldn’t find gold, huddled together with the toys on the island  
>Upon returning home Lulu squeaked, scared, at the return of the monster, and almost leapt to the TV again as Cornelius plunged over the cliff with it  
>In time the others apologize to Rudolph, which you try to make abundantly clear to Lulu as she grows tired, but she jumps back awake upon the trumpeting return of Yukon with the snow monster  
>However a storm builds as Lulu scoots onto the edge of the seat, and Santa agonizes over the fate of Christmas as he can’t pierce the thick blinds of snow  
>Triumphantly Rudolph is chosen to guide the sleigh that night, and Lulu hugs you in excitement as the film ends, wishing Santa a merry Christmas back, yawning  
>Carrying her over to her bed and laying her down, she sleepily hums the tune from the special, and as you tuck her in for bed she asks if she can go play with Rudolph  
>Subconsciously, now focusing on your unfinished work, you agree before turning the light out  
>Lulu jumps and squeezes your neck tightly, thanking you a million times before diving back into bed and beneath her blankets  
>Shakily exiting the room and putting the light out, you nervously start to look for answers to give her her visit with Rudolph, bemoaning saying “no” to your robot in the worst possible way  
>On top of work you had to find a way to get her with a reindeer, now  
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Lulu Petting Zoo (Part 2) - December 8th  
-Early this time! This one's gonna end up being a three-parter in all honesty, cause it's getting pretty long and I really like this idea. For the time being, here's *another* retelling of a Christmas story.-

>The fallout of your reactive “yes” the following day was immense and, unfortunately for you, adorable  
>Lulu was bouncing around your home, excitedly donning her winter clothes in preparation to “see Rudolph”  
>Carefully, quietly, and with the promise of another movie together you calm her down enough to pry her from your leg and head for work  
>You’d called ahead about your predicament only to be met with the classic Sterling ambivalence of “we’ll see”, and an order to report your “findings” immediately  
>Going into work on a Saturday was less than pleasant, the skeleton crew of overworked interns that watched you stroll into Bradbury’s office collectively shaking their heads in sympathy  
>Her nandroid secretary ushered you onto her and in a short moment you were sat alone across from her piercing, cold eyes and stiff lips  
>You handed over the (thankfully) complete reports from the previous two weeks, detailing as she read them Lulu’s progress, changes in taste or interest, all manner of minutia that would be fed into some computer somewhere to decipher it  
>For your purposes you explained she’s been behaving like a normal kid, pausing as you searched for the words to continue - she was very empathetic, you said, to a fault  
>Very prone to crying was Bradbury’s takeaway as she sequestered the file away into a cabinet  
>Turning to you and tenting her fingers she almost giddily inquired about the “quality” and “complexity” of Lulu’s crying in the way she’d designed to maximize discomfort in the people she spoke too  
>It’s what got and kept her at the top, you remind yourself  
>Calmly you explain last night’s “incident” as Bradbury would term it, and forwarded your suggestion for an enrichment activity for the little robot, dropping the detail that you’d made a promise or that “playing with Rudolph” was what Lucy wanted at all  
>Face blank and cold as ever she acknowledged your decision and almost warmly allowed it, making sure that the company would pay for it as well and recommending a number of “affiliate” (meaning Sterling owned them for his own pleasure) petting zoos  
>You start to thank her but she stops you, tacking on the need for observation, recording and notes-taking  
>This wouldn’t be a playful jaunt in the park or a day trip, it’s an experiment  
>You start to regret having ever mentioned this to her and not just covertly taking Lulu on a day trip, but it was too late now  
>Bradbury rattles off the requirements for this field trip, smirking as she adds that you’ll be accompanied by at least one other employee  
>You try to plead for independence, some alone time where Lulu can take in the Christmas atmosphere, spinning it as a way to test for holiday acclimatization but Bradbury isn’t having it  
>She ushers you out of her office with a “Happy Christmas”, reminding you of the phone call that would come to tell you which zoo you’d be whisked off to  
>Returning home, defeated, you find Lulu asleep in your armchair, a picture book folded over in her lap  
>Smiling you pick up the little robot as she stirs in your arms, apologizing for being gone so long and not being there to read for her  
>Groggily she asks you to read her the book before bed, as she’d only been looking at the pictures and making up a story  
>Slipping out of the room you seize up the slim hardcover, the ominous “S” stamped on the inside cover reminding you it, like Lulu, was just on loan  
>Sighing you head back in and pull up the little stool you’d read from, sitting down after tucking her in again  
>Splitting the tiny tome open you read out the title in your grandiose “reading voice”: “The Christmas Witch”  
>Lulu giggles at the rich baritone which you belt out the narration with, switching to tinny and impish voices for the students of the school for witches  
>You help Lulu along to read out the lines for Gloria, pointing from word to word as she follows along and gives voice to the little witch  
>She giggles at the antics of the less-than-stellar witch wannabe, and jumps a bit when you bput on your best scowl and harpy’s voice for the headmistress  
>You turn her lights out before continuing, the yellow glow of her lamp washing the room as you continue  
>You read out Gloria’s meeting with a kind, angelic stranger who regaled the magic of the season the miniscule witch  
>Gloria and Lulu alike were captured in the wintry splendor of Christmas, and as you continued the two were whisked away into a dark, dismal upland where no such cheer penetrated  
>The Valdoons and the Pepperwills, two warring peoples, had no place in their hearts for such festivities  
>But in time they warmed to Gloria and her words, celebrating in the castle she’d repaired just for them, and on Christmas Day they marched unknowingly into each other’s arms, and the trap set by the scheming headmistress  
>Lulu grew restless, anxious even; the cake had been destroyed, and the headmistress waited in ambush, and Gloria’s Christmas was about to be ruined, even after the land had been cleared of its darkness already  
>At last the deception was revealed as the two parties mingled in confusion, and the headmistress was about to begin her assault upon the revelation of the destroyed cake  
>Christmas was falling to pieces in her hands as Gloria pleaded with them to stay, Lulu’s voice breaking as she cried out to them through the pages of the book  
>The headmistress had been defeated, she reasoned, her students taught about what Christmas had to offer  
>All she needed was for them to stay, to remember the festivities they had shared both together and amongst themselves in the months leading up to Christmas  
>Her desperate plea took root in their hearts, Lulu’s wistful murmurs quieted as they all shared their gifts and in the warmth of the season  
>Closing the book with a gentle clap, Lulu rolled over to face you from her bed  
>You were mid-stride as she asked a final, yawning question  
>Tousling her hair as you turned her lamp out, you assured that, yes, Rudolph would like to be friends with a Christmas Witch  
>But that would have to wait until tomorrow  
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Lulu Petting Zoo, Part 3 - December 9th  
-Sorry for the long wait, odds are I'll be switching over to posting these late at night like now given exam schedules, so apologies for the changeup! Anyways, please enjoy the final part!-

>Sunday morning, and the time had come  
>Lulu was rocking you back and forth, shaking you awake as she stood at your bedside  
>Now flickering your lamp on and off as you blinked hard she urged you to get dressed, herself having already changed (to your surprise)  
>She even had her shoes on, with which she lightly your nightstand to urge you on  
>Chiding her for her impatience you send her to the living room so you can dress  
>Slipping into your best winter clothes you quickly met Lulu in the living room where she was presently bouncing from wall to wall  
>The phone call had come late last night, laying out a time, meeting place, and securing each and every detail of your visit  
>Pulling your boots on you bemoaned the coming day under the watchful eye of Sterling suits  
>You tried to put that behind yourself for Lulu’s sake, hefting the little bot onto your shoulders as the two of you leave for the metro  
>Your walk is silent save for Lulu, who’d been bombarding you with all manner of preparatory questions for her visit; she didn’t want to make a bad impression on any of the reindeer, after all  
>Humming a childish mix of Christmas songs Lulu jumped from snow bank to snow bank, stomping them flat beneath her feet  
>Taking your seat on the train the two of you were whisked onwards towards downtown and the municipal zoo  
>Bradbury explained over the phone that the zoo would be doing a special exposition of reindeer, perfect for the “experiment” as she classed it  
>You dread the little flock of bureaucrats who’d be over your and Lulu’s shoulder, asking incessant questions about and of her  
>All you could do know is pray they’d respect her sense of fun, and at least let her a few moments unmolested by their intrusive analyses  
>The subway car shuddered to a halt as Lulu rushed for the door, pulling you behind her into the vacant station  
>A flight of stairs later and you were a few blocks away from the zoo, just a couple minutes or so’s walk and she’d be face to face with her new friend  
>The metropolitan zoo was surprisingly busy, even for the Christmas season, with families ambling about from pen to pen and watching the animals hunker down in the snow  
>Paying for your tickets (something Bradbury had failed, or didn’t care, to provide) you usher Lulu forward through the wrought iron gates  
>Practically vibrating with excitement she tugs on your pant leg repeatedly, begging to know where Rudolph is  
>Trying to calm her you suggest looking at some of the other animals first but she is determined to see the reindeer  
>Spotting a sign through the crowd and slowly sounding out its message she shrieks in excitement as she grasps your hand and pulls you onwards  
>Weaving through the crowd you make your way, frazzled, to the rear of the zoo where there’s a pen for the reindeer, a special exhibition in time for the season  
>You glance around the little ground-level paddock, far fewer people around than you expected  
>By all estimations you’d think the zoo was empty based on how many people were around, but that was no matter  
>You had to meet up with the Sterling representatives you were told about, but failed to see any number of suited people  
>That was before a gentle tap on your shoulder  
“Mister Anon?”  
>You spun around to come face to face with a young face smiling sweetly at you  
>Lulu ducked behind your legs, worried about the new stranger  
>Taking your hand firmly into hers she introduced herself as one of your department’s newest hires, eagerly shaking your hand as she continued  
>You searched around for any companions of hers before she crouched down to see Lulu  
>Reactively you drop down to her level too to protect Lulu, but not before soundly headbutting the woman beneath you  
>Rubbing your head you apologized as you offered to pull her up, explaining that Lucy was very shy around strangers  
>Lulu frowned at the use of her given name as the woman giggled, waving to an unknown companion as she takes your hand  
>Galloping over is another kid-droid, unkempt brown hair swinging around a childish face and pair of stuck-on antlers  
>Slipping to the young lady’s side she catches her synthetic breath, panting heavily as she waves hello  
“This is my own ward, Anon. Sammy, say hello.”  
>The little robot, breath caught, properly introduced herself before trying to go for Lulu, but not before a firm hand held her by the shoulder  
>The woman knelt down and explained carefully to Sammy that Lucy was shy around new people, but that she’d need a friend too  
>Letting her go the tiny android stepped over to Lulu who shrunk at her approach  
>You nudge her forward and explain she’s a friend, somebody who wanted to meet the reindeer too, to which Sammy fervently agrees, almost bursting at the seams  
>The two parade over to the edge of the fencing as you and your partner look on, the two chatting idly as Sammy bombarded Lulu with fact after fact about the animals  
“She’s an animal lover, Sammy. Unique quirk, Bradbury figured this would be good enrichment for her.”  
>A wise choice you respond, thankful for your boss’ level of discretion  
>You explain in turn Lulu’s near-isolating fear, or mistrust rather, of strangers, something that worried you once she returned to complete company custody in the new year  
“Suppose that’s the way it is in our line of work,” she said. “I’ve given Sammy the tools to have a fruitful adolescence by robotic standards, hopefully Sterling doesn’t mess it up.”  
>The two of you share in that hope as your robots watch the deer parade around, bare-headed and sniffing around their bales of hay  
>Some more small talk between work and the new models being put out (and the quirks you’d catalogued in working with them) and you were ready to accompany your wards in  
>Sammy was ominously quiet, and Lulu chattering away as the two of you stood back, listening  
>Lulu was spinning an epic tale of Rudolph, the reindeer who beat the odds, and splicing in stories of goblins and witches as the other robot listened, spellbound  
>Concluding her story with the happiest of endings you and your counterpart collected up your robots so they could interact with the reindeer and their foals  
>Calf, Sammy corrects you - foals are for horses  
>An attendant ushers the lot of you into the pen, rattling off all the special rules as you relay them in duplicate to the robots, making sure they understand  
>The little duo stick by each other’s side as they approach one of the smaller deer together, the creature lackadaisically lifting its head before returning to the pile of hay beneath it  
>Sammy goes first to ruffle the thick shag of hair around its neck, scratching along the length of its neck as it continued absentmindedly chewing  
>Lulu anxiously approaches the animal as it turns its head fully towards her, still chewing away and grunting quietly  
>Sniffing her it blew a cloud of steam at her and lowered its head, twisting its neck around as Lulu jumped back  
>Sammy gently pulled her back up and placed her hand next to hers on the animal’s neck, gently petting it in time as she reassures her  
>Lulu then goes to scratch beneath the deer’s chin, running her fingers back and forth the curve of its neck as it brings its head lower, and its chewing slows  
>Now at Lulu-height the deer’s eyes close in bliss, the little robot still petting away as she migrates her hand to behind the perky ears and then running along the broad muzzle, stroking it gently in time with its heavy exhales  
>Each puff of steam lingers in the air as Lulu turns to you wide-eyed, ready to jump in excitement  
>Even Sammy is awed at how gentle the animal’s being, evidently duped to some degree by her typical high-intensity outdoor entertainment  
>A dollar or so out of pocket and you walk over to Lulu, slowly, proffering the carrot to her as your companion watches in amusement  
>The robot takes it in hand before presenting it before the wide pair of nostrils, inspecting the offering from every angle before crunching it and pulling it into its mouth, chewing even more so  
>Lulu giggles as she pulls your hand now onto the animal, its shaggy coat like an elaborate blanket in your hands, clumps of hollow hair running between your fingers - it’s terribly warm for how cold it is, you joke  
>Backing away to let the robots have their fun you recommend your partner to try it out too, if only for the experience  
>Hand smacking along the nylon surface of your coat you whip out a disposable camera you picked up at the gate entrance  
>You almost forgot to snap some pictures for posterity and, unfortunately, for the following report you’d inevitably have to write  
>Rolling the wheel on the top you crouch down to catch a snapshot of Lulu giggling aside Sammy, the unamused deer not caring to look on  
>Shooing your partner up she gingerly comes to the trunk of the animal alongside her own android, slowly placing a hand down along its spine as it reflexively shivers  
>You catch each little moment before you as the three of them just stand, petting the deer calmly before it saunters off  
>You have to remind them not to chase it as you ready to go, Lulu now more enthused about the other exhibits  
>The four of you spend the following hours jumping from concrete pen to concrete pen, each display of animals enrapturing the little robots as you hoisted them up to see the animals  
>A small show in the zoo’s amphitheater captures their attention as penguins hop around and march in-lines across the stage, a charismatic orator naming them off as they go, and casually dropping the hottest penguin facts as the show continued  
>Turning your attention to a window at the side the penguin enclosure is buzzing with marine activity, the little birds diving and spinning underwater much to your entourage’s amusement, the scattered zoo-goers applauding their underwater acrobatics, and snickering at the less-than-elegant antics of the birds on land  
>The day finally drawing to a close, Lulu’s head bedecked in a lovely, new penguinesque toque and Sammy a stuffed reindeer under her arm  
>Somberly the little duo split up as you and your colleague part ways with a handshake and an exchange of information, ostensibly to put together your reports better for the department head and Ms. Bradbury  
>Before starting the walk back to the subway, though, each of the small bots asks if they can go to the zoo again, see each other more, anything  
>You ache over an answer to give them, neither knowing that, should nothing change, they’ll be moved out within a few weeks  
>Looking to your partner you assure them they’ll see their friend again eventually, but not especially soon  
>The best you two could do for them was argue like hell to keep them together, even if that meant splitting them from yourselves  
>A meager “Merry Christmas” between the four of you and you were off, your mood darkening because of what may be to come but, at the very least, you were filled with a determination to do right by your robot and keep a smile on her face for the years to come  
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A Scrapyard Christmas - December 10th

>Winter in the scrapyards of Beacon City was bleak, frigid and painfully cloistering  
>The previous months of the year had been spent scraping up oil and fuel from whatever machinery was dumped in their vicinity  
>The precious commodity would be stored up in barrels, bottles, jugs and more, sitting ready to heat ramshackle homes amidst the thick drifts of snow that swallowed up the city’s slums  
>Not all was this morose in the steel shack city though  
>Every December there was a little bit of cheer as people strung up what few lights they had, a generator swallowing precious gas to keep them on  
>And there were the presents  
>The denizens of the scrapyards were less than generous souls, it must be said  
>Not outright thieving, but not exactly willing to dispense with gifts for a neighbor either  
>One resident though was fed up with that  
>He’d spend the entire year tinkering away with his hulking hands, passing on his latest project to his young ward for her to put on the finer details  
>Odds and ends were converted to little wind-up soldiers, hunks of wood from discarded pallets rocking horses or cribs  
>Every year he’d sacrifice his coat, and her her current pillow, to make ragdolls too  
>Then at midnight the pair would stalk about in the mute darkness of the little town, snow crunching beneath their feet as the quiet roar of dozens of boilers whispered in the night  
>They’d leave a pair of dolls for the twins at one home, or a new crib and some nappies for the parents to be at another  
>Slipping through the slanted alleyways of corrugated sheet metal the pair went, heavy burlap sack slowly emptying of the year’s worth of work they’d put together  
>And then, silently as they went out, they’d return to their own little basement nook where their other two companions were waiting  
>Their one friend would be tinkering with the radio still, trying desperately to get a connection and bring some musical cheer to the cozy room  
>Not to mention the entire month of decorations he’d been putting together  
>Though those decorations were made, admittedly, with the help of their fourth and newest friend, someone new and out of place  
>Still trying to assimilate, the dainty little robot clung to her old uniform and bonnet, fearing she’d succumb to her new family’s ruffian ways were she to discard it  
>Even worse was adapting to the less-than-premium ingredients she had to work with, but nonetheless she found a way to craft a delicious Christmas meal for the young girl, a bit of bread pudding and scouse to warm her up and send her to bed  
>Afterwards she’d get to work tuning up the hulking butlerbot, worming errant bits of ice and snow from his panelling, scolding him for his carelessness and reminding him of the previous year’s scare with a falling icicle  
>Topping off his own tank she’d send him to rest as she joined the other by the radio, it now singing gentle yuletide lullabies into the warm air, crackling like firewood, yes, but singing nonetheless  
>And they’d sit and talk about their own Christmases, be it with a family practically forgotten, or old comrades during his younger days, before heading off to charge on their own, ready for the following morning’s shrieks and cheers as children flooded the gravel avenues to play  
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Tree Lighting - December 11th

>Christmas was, for Emmy, quite possibly the greatest time of year  
>The festive nature, cheeks aglow, gas fireplaces roaring, and most of all the immaculate decorations scintillating in the dark winter nights  
>All of these combined to make the season all the better for her, the culmination of an entire year’s work paying off  
>And it certainly helped that Madeline was doubly well behaved for the whole month  
>Compared to previous years Madeline was an angel this year, and Emmy saw fit to treat her to something a bit more festive, should the Mister and Missus allow her  
>There would be a tree lighting in the park a few blocks away, and Emmy explained that it would be a magical occasion for the young miss, an excellent way to inaugurate the last weeks until Christmas  
>With the DeLaires consent Emmy sprung the surprise on Madeline, buttoning her into her heavy coat before the two strolled off into the night  
>Every street in Hawthorne Grove was alight with cheer and warm, electric lights  
>Strings of bulbs zigzagged above the pair’s heads as they walked along the cleared sidewalks, thick banks of snow flanking them on either side as handfuls of people joined them on the streets  
>Finally in the park the pair took their place in the great circle that was forming, a smattering of vendors and musicians around the park, setting up shop by footpaths and water fountains  
>Hot cocoa and a candied apple in hand the pair sat down on a picnic blanket to watch the stirrings in the center of the park, the a cappella and choral clubs from the Grove’s high school and university respectively taking their turns at the microphone  
>Numerous performers, local or less so, took the stage and brought their flair of Christmas to the snowy drifts, seasonal classics new and old belted out from a central amphitheater that was a favorite of the high school’s drama club  
>The night only having just begun, there was time for a few small shows, the same theatre troupe reenacting some of Dickens’ shorter Christmas writings, Madeline giggling devilishly as Christmassy goblins kicked and trampled the poor gravedigger in the spiritual predecessor of A Christmas Carol  
>Emmy applauded loudly for the little snippets of early Victorian trivia from the local historical society, looking on in awe at perfectly reimagined dishes from the era (for sale at their booth after the tree lighting, they reminded the audience)  
>As the show marched on Emmy swung her head around the green to the other families or couples milling about, waving frantically to Franny here or Polly there where she saw them with their own kids  
>She even spied other nandroids, strangers to her, as her eyes widened  
>One was wearing non-regulation winter apparel, and she feared for the presence of an outmode in the park  
>Emmy was about to spring up and warn the man she was with before Madeline turned to Emmy, mid stride  
>Watching the pair sitting there, calmly and peacefully, and two giggling together Emmy decided against it  
>But she’d have an eye on them, she assured herself - something wasn’t right with the way that robot was behaving  
>The punches in the shoulder were very excessive but not *harmful* (at least she hoped)  
>The only other she spied from her increasingly nervous perch was one with dark hair and mismatched eyes which twinkled in the night  
>Focusing, Emmy spied a long, thick crack in her faceplate and she was ready to rush over again to alert the man with her only to be tugged back to the ground by Madeline  
>The way the man held her tightly and cradled her was… alien to Emmy, to say the least  
>She found herself scrunching up, eyes darting around and ignoring the show altogether  
>Images of outmodes scheming and malicious swirled in her head as a local orchestra came to the climax of The Nutcracker, blue-clad coppers chasing them away into the city’s depths  
>The gravity of the image deepened, Emmy feeling almost lightheaded as the park swirled around her in a dizzying twirl of lights  
>Shaking her back to reality, Madeline pointed to the humble little man that’d led the city over the past years as he stepped up to a prepared podium  
>His jovial attitude complimented his rosy cheeks, a wiry pair of spectacles jiggling atop his nose as he read out a little prepared speech  
>Emmy perked up at the mention of her parent company, the magnanimous Ms. Bradbury thanking the Mayor for his kind words before giving a handful of her own  
>She smiled (for the first time Emmy mused) as she looked around the crowd and mentioned the nandroids she had worked so hard to whip into shape  
>Bradbury’s presence calmed Emmy enough to focus on the tall woman, male and female ends of a cord in hand, plug in the tree  
>All of her worries melted away as a brilliant sea of dotted light spilled onto the snowy field and the faces of the people around her  
>She squeezed Madeline (much to the young lady’s chagrin), the hulking evergreen shining like a thousand little stars onto their faces as they applauded  
>Emmy relaxed and soaked in the warmth of the display, a stunning tree-topper casting five-pointed shadows around it in a circle  
>Sighing she relaxed, just sniffing the chocolate and spice on the air as she thought about all the people around her with their own robots, and how happy those robots had helped make them, and vice versa  
>Ruffling Madeline’s hair she knew what she was thankful for this Christmas - a place to call home, and a family who loved her as much as she did them  
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Avery and Anon's Snowman - December 12th

>The young mister or, to her, Anon, was soon to leave for university  
>Avery was a unique nandroid, far more ‘durable’ than her dainty sisters, and with an attitude to match  
>She never took to the high society standards expected of a Sterling nandroid, and it showed  
>Sleeves rolled up, hair unbrushed, and language uncivilized - she was the model of a street urchin, not a maid  
>But Anon loved it  
>Over the past fifteen years the two had watched each other grow and mature, Avery leaning (if only a little) into the etiquette of upper society and Anon plunging into the ruffianism that most certainly wasn’t his station  
>Anon owed his success in athletics to Avery alone, the robot driving him harder than any coach could in his sports, and pushing him to excel in everything  
>Why, Avery remembered, she’d even make competitions out of the wintry activities  
>Thankfully snow was common in her part of the world, feet upon feet drifting to the ground each year  
>And every year, once the shovelling was done and the walks and driveway salted properly, she’d race him up the hill that towered over their estate  
>Avery would summit the peak with ease, at least when he was young and considerably shorter than her, laughing as he trudged through the drifts of snow after her  
>Finally atop the little hill they’d while away the time, running the sled for each other up and down and up again  
>The real competition, outside of the snowball fights with him and his siblings and friends, were the snowmen  
>If there was any shred of Sterling programming that remained untouched in Avery, it was her sense of aesthetics and design  
>She knew intuitively how to make the perfect snowman, carving great spheres of snow from the ground before Anon and friends could even scrabble in the cold for a few twigs  
>Every year she trounced them, perching her bonnet atop her snowwoman with care, a scarf produced from seemingly nowhere sitting gently around its icy neck  
>And every year she’d topple the snowman the next day with them, laughing and giggling as the hulking snowballs rolled down the hill  
>These games faded with the years, Anon growing too old and studious for such pursuits, leaving such fun to his younger siblings as he stowed away in the library and read or reclined by the fire  
>Years more and Anon was the strapping image of his father, and was ready to be unleashed upon the world  
>Meekly, unlike the rougueish robot he knew her as, Avery approached Anon in his last weeks in the familial home, the days leading up to Christmas his last with family  
>“For old time’s sake,” she asked. “Once more up the hill, *Mister* Anon?”  
>And so they went again, alone now, up that same hill for the last time for a while  
>They left the sled behind them, and the pales or shovels for snow, just a blanket and themselves  
>Sitting atop the little icy hillock which had seemed so mountainous many years ago, they sat quietly beneath the gray skies as they contemplated the past together  
>Anon nudged the robot, rolling a little ball in his mittened hands as it grew in size, dropping to the ground with a light paff  
>Together they rolled it larger and fuller, adding a smaller companion atop it and another still  
>Anon cheekily snatched Avery’s bonnet and slung on top of the snow-woman's head, carving out a face and eyes with his fingers  
>Ripping her bonnet back red in the face Avery scolded him, stealing away his tophat and perching it gently on the snow*man*  
>Pausing the little couple laughed and fell back into the snow, bemoaning the lack of a sled to run down the hill with  
>Sitting up as little clumps of snow fell from his woolen coat Anon stared off into the mute horizon, the glowing imprint of the Sun hardly penetrating the dense clouds  
>He pulled the little maidbot up by her shoulders and embraced her, thanking her for all of the years spent together  
>He promised her, in time, he’d be back and they’d do this little song and dance again as his own children played on the hill, and sled down its slope, and waged war in the snow at its summit, and rolled the remains of snowmen down it  
>He removed his scarf and affixed it gingerly around the snowman’s neck before placing his own mittens at the ends of its twig-arms  
>Looking her sternly in the eye he asked her not to let this snowman die before Spring, assuring her as long as it guarded the lonely hilltop she’d have a piece of him watching her  
>Avery hugged her young mister back as they gazed off into the setting Sun, little breaks in the dismal sky letting rays pierce through and warmly tickle the icy world around them  
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Amy, Snow Artist - December 13th  
-Hey hey, two snowmen stories in a row! I went for a bit of an Amelia Bedelia flavor with Amy in this one, hope you enjoy!-

>The Khatris were a more festive family than most, even by the upper-crust standards of the Grove  
>Every year they’d go all-out on lighting and displays  
>What their nandroid Amy lacked in tact or a general acumen for maid work she made up for in being a savant with decor, able to perfectly and immaculately cover the home in gorgeous and capturing light displays  
>She could do with a few dozen yards of lights what others tried (and, frankly, failed) to do with all manner of electronic inflatables, signs and mannequins  
>Where she truly excelled, however, was in the snow  
>The Khatris had discovered, by accident really, her impeccable sculpting skills when the Missus sent her outside to help Ajay build a “snowman”  
>The lumpen trio of snowballs was as far from a man as could be made with snow, Amy knew  
>However she abided by Ajay’s instructions as he directed her step by step, quickly shaping together a companion for the lonely snowman and quickly putting a smile to their faces  
>Amy knew she could do more  
>That night she snuck out of the home onto the front lawn, the sodium-yellow glow of the streetlights washing across the snow  
>Armed only with a spoon and her fingers she piled up a great drift of snow, one that nearly towered over her  
>Gently and meticulously compacting it she shaped an icy monolith out of the mound before getting to work  
>With all the care and artisanry of ancient carvers and sculptors she scraped away little puffs of ice here and there, scraping away a layer of flakes at a time as she continued  
>Hours went by as she carefully etched folds into the man’s pants, or shaping out the hairs of his moustache  
>By morning she was exhausted, staggering back inside to charge and rest before the family woke up, her labor complete  
>When Ajay bounded outside he was stunned to see a stranger on his lawn in the early light, cloudy skies framing the gentleman before him in a mute light  
>Rounding him was a moustachioed man in repose, standing hands in-pocket as he leisurely smoked a pipe, the only part of the ensemble not made of snow  
>The boy rushed back inside as fast as he’d left, sled clattering on the hardwood floor  
>Calling for his parents he dragged them outside to the statuesque man out front, his dapper form undisturbed by their inspections  
>Awoken half-charged by the shouting, Amy wobbled outside to the surprise of the Khatris, a flurry of questions from the Mister and Missus  
>Amy assured them she made the snowman to specifications, proudly affirming that she’d rendered in snow a complete effigy of Sterling himself  
>The trio stared at Amy, bewildered at the artistry of the display  
>Taking her hands the Mister asked her, laughing, where she learned to do “that”  
>Amy evidently not getting what “that” was simply answered she’d made a snowman, simple as that  
>The family all collectively giggled at her misunderstanding, asking if she’d like to make more snowmen in the future  
>Amy perked up in surprise, worrying she’d done something wrong  
>Excitedly she sat the family down on the front porch before rushing away to grab a trusty spoon from the silverware drawer  
>Calling Ajay over the two heaped up another thick drift of snow aside, packing it tighter  
>Calmly Amy framed the family together between her outstretched fingers before sending them inside  
>She had all the material she needed  
>She set to work chiseling and scraping with hand and spoon the rough outline of the family, each form slowly taking shape in her cold canvas  
>Filling out their forms with precision she hit a major roadblock; Dr. Khatri’s nose was certainly aesthetic, yes  
>But also a bit too large for the snow to handle  
>A handful of repeated tries all resulted in his nose severed away, sphinx-like  
>Desperate for a solution Amy broke away an icicle, cringing as she slowly pressed it into his icy-white face  
>Now the Mister was demonized like some tengu mask, or worse yet a caricature of the Snow Miser  
>The work was nearly done, the lapels of his suit coat delicately shaped and a little caduceus pin worked in as well  
>The same went for the Missus and Ajay, wintry dresses and scarves intricately fixed, static yet with ripples of motion, around their necks  
>Chuckling to herself she fetched two more icicles before fetching the family, excited to share her work before preparing supper  
>The family congregated outside, staring intently at the backs of their own heads as Amy led them, now covering their vision, to see  
>Ajay burst out in laughter at the needle-nosed portrait of his parents, the Missus giggling while Doctor Khatri blushed, not sure how to feel about the artistic liberties Amy had taken  
>Seeing the smiles on his family’s faces, though, he scooped them up into a hug as he thanked Amy for her work  
>Nodding Amy returned inside to prepare dinner, a skip in her step and spoon in hand  
>The little trio stood and watched their wintry clones in the dusklight, orangey shadows creeping along their faces as a little flurry of snow kicked up  
>Time to go inside, they agreed  
>But odds are by tomorrow there’d be a fourth, more mechanical addition to the frozen portrait  
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Franny Gingerbread - December 14th

>It was that time of year again, Franny knew  
>Despite all the cheer and decor and lights and more, it was a loathsome time for her  
>Running across the city without a moment’s rest or respite as she zigzagged from grocer to department store in search of key wishlist items or the finishing touches for the Christmas dinner  
>The Flaggs were a busy family, and Franny doubly so in managing every last bit of the household for them  
>Franny was the only nandroid on the block who didn’t give a ‘Merry Christmas’ to passersby or join in with the scattered carolers  
>It was a humbug to her, a nothing, just a season which meant triple the wight and a third the time to carry it  
>Just this past weekend she’d nearly been mauled by ravenous buyers after nabbing up a playset for one of the Flagg’s daughters  
>Not to mention the skirmish over the last few cans of whipped cream, or the ham, or even pie crusts which had disappeared  
>Each day Franny would come home from rushing around the city, the Mister and Missus both at work and the children razing the household  
>Home sweet home  
>The oldest would overturn her duty to Franny before slipping back into her room, and the next oldest to his to play video games  
>Wrangling the other three together to help put the groceries away, she’d collapse onto the futon in the living room and take a second or so’s break before launching up again to start preparing dinner  
>Such was her routine in December, exacerbated further once the kids were home and out of school  
>One particularly grim day Franny had to come home empty handed, the big-ticket items for the eldest daughter sold out, gone, practically evaporated from the shelves  
>Slogging home through the deepening sleet and rain she opened the front door, freezing cold  
>The home was silent, not a childish scream or smash of a vase to be heard - just the gentle tick of the clock, the battering of the rain against the house, the crackle of the fireplace  
>Stalking quietly into the home Franny feared the worse, the children missing or gone and only Franny there to witness the shadows of their being there  
>As she neared the kitchen, though, the gentle clang of cookery and shutting of wood cupboards echoed past her  
>Peeping into the kitchen the whole quintet was busy at work, quietly mixing up a great batch of brown dough  
>A cursory chemical analysis on Franny’s part detected rich hints of cinnamon, nutmeg and, most of all, ginger  
>The daughter turned and smiled, braces glinting in the bright lights as she directed her little concert of chefs as they mixed and pounded the dough  
>Directing Franny away from the kitchen she sat her down, still dazed, on the couch  
>She assured the android that everything would be fine, and to focus on relaxing  
>Relaxing - a word that had little place in a nandroid’s vocabulary, even less so Franny’s  
>The little robot sat there, damp, staring at the wall as the hustle of the kitchen went on without her  
>She had only been sitting for a few seconds she was sure, but a little tug at her skirt from one of the twins (and a glance at the clock) told her an hour had passed  
>An hour of… relaxing  
>He pulled her along to the steaming heap of little gingerbread people and animals, whole families and pets piled up there  
>On a little plate the youngest, who’d just started school, proffered up a small plate  
>A little cookie sat there, delicately shaped by knife and even etched on the surface, characteristic cheekspots and browlines running on her face  
>In ginger-effigy was a perfect little nandroid, smiling back at Franny from the dish she was holding  
>Setting it beside its ginger-person companions she knelt down and pulled the kids into a hug, holding them all there for a moment as she roped even the oldest son in  
>Invigorated she set to work getting the cream cheese and confectioner’s sugar together, and not forgetting the vanilla of course  
>Stirring it up like a madwoman as the children watched she produced an immaculate tube of icing, handing it around the kids as they started to pipe messily away at their own cookies  
>Franny took special care to pipe the details on herself, the drunkenly tilted mouths and eyes around her causing her to giggle with her kids  
>Dinnertime was coming quickly, she knew, and the Mister and Missus would be home soon  
>Franny ushered the kids out of the kitchen and out to play or read as she tidied the kitchen, only to messy it again  
>The daughter stuck behind though, running up the hot water as she got to work scrubbing the bowls and rubber spatulas with care  
>She assured the droid she could handle it easily, and to focus on dinner  
>Smiling Franny set to work preparing supper for the night as the Mister and Missus trickled in from work, Franny taking their coats and sitting them down  
>Dogged and tired they stretched and reclined in the loveseat together, already half-asleep once their shoes came off  
>Quietly, dinner now in the oven, Franny and her helper approached the semi-conscious pair with a few of the spiced treats they were now offering them  
>Shaking themselves awake they watched the biscuits with dazed confusion, taking a hot moment to realize they were looking at little cookie-mirrors of themselves  
>Chuckling the pair took their cookies, the Missus biting into the leg of her husband with a laugh  
>The Mister laughed before nibbling at the neck of his own, both exclaiming to Franny, thanking her for the treats  
>Stepping back Franny informed them that it was their daughter’s doing; she’d only iced them  
>It was an early Christmas present, she explained, as thanks for all their hard work  
>Leaning into their arms she squeezed her mom and dad tight and tighter as Franny went to tend the oven  
>Franny retreated quietly to tend the oven before being called back over by her owners  
>In the frankest words they thanked Franny for her work, too  
>They knew things were tight (very tight) lately, and that that was a lot of pressure to drop on a single little robot  
>But without her, they said, they wouldn’t have any of this  
>Not their home or their lovely children, none of it would be possible without an extra pair of hands to hold it all together  
>Franny wanted to cry as the Missus hugged her and wished her a Merry Christmas  
>But she knew that, maybe, Christmas wasn’t such a bad time after all  
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Avery on Ice - December 15th

>It would be unfair to describe Avery as an orthodox nandroid  
>It’s been said a thousand times of her that she doesn’t take to the humble, courteous quiet designed into them  
>No, Avery was far roudier and practically explosive at times than her other peers from Sterling Robotics  
>But this didn’t bother you at all, in fact it was what you loved about her  
>In the years you’d spent together her rough and tumble attitude towards near everything had never bothered you  
>Through a few dozen bruises, scrapes and scraps you’d come to love it, frankly  
>And most of all during the Winter  
>Christmas was one of the few loves she shared with her maidly cousins, the cheer for the season overwhelming her as soon as the twelfth month started  
>Her rough exterior melted away, enchanted enough with the warmth of the season and the people around her to be on her best behavior  
>It’s not like I believe in Santa or anything you idiot, she’d say  
>But she’d refrain from punching your shoulder (at least until January)  
>You still remembered their first Christmas together  
>Disastrous as Christmas Eve was, once your parents had returned home it was a magical experience  
>Christmas Day was beautifully planned and extensively… active  
>Exchanging presents and kisses and more they found their to the ice rink; your treat, you assured her  
>So when Avery emerged from the changing room somehow decked out in hockey gear you were justifiably surprised  
>Even more so when she skittered across the ice and tried to bodycheck you into the barrier, mocking you, only to slip backwards and crash onto her back  
>Laying there, staring up at the bright lights above she yelled at you not to help her up  
>Evidently she’d overestimated her skills on the ice, you thought, proffering a hand  
>But that was a year ago now  
>Christmas had come around again, finally, and Avery was ecstatic, crackling with energy like a stoked fire  
>In the past year she’d been taking longer on her errands  
>You didn’t mind it any, he took his time when he was out of the house too be it for work or pleasure  
>What you didn’t expect was the invitation by phone to the city’s downtown by a stone-voiced robot  
>Things were serious, you knew it  
>Throwing your coat on and speeding out the door he gunned for the city center to get to Avery in time  
>Stalking through the city between heaped piles of snow you search, phone in hand, for Avery  
>Passing by attractions and shops an arm grabs you by the back of your shirt, pulling you around  
>Your assailant presses her lips to yours, thankfully out of view, squeezing you after  
>Avery shushes you before pulling you by the arm across the street, the glimmer of lights and gold glinting ahead of you  
>It was the city’s principal ice rink  
>It’d been in movies, shows, documentaries - anything, really  
>But you’d never been, not even once  
>And now Avery, putting her own skates on as she handed you a pair, had brought you here  
>You were about to take her hand and guide her onto the ice, but before you’ve even tied your laces she’s off  
>Gliding across the ice she laps the rink several times, glances from the crowd following her  
>The heavy Christmas sweater she’d just gotten billows around her like a parachute as she waves you in  
>Hobbling down the stairs and onto the ice you take after her, skating like a madman and shredding the frozen floor beneath you  
>Racing each other around the rink you twist and bob between the less intense visitors, their flavored language pushing you to slow down  
>Avery evidently get the message as you lose sight of her in the crowd, twisting your head to look for her flapping red hair  
>Failing, you’re rocketed to the ground as a small someone collides with your back, the robot ricocheting off and onto her rear as you slide forward, steadying yourself  
>Turning around you see Avery, resigned to her fate as she stares into the black sky above  
>Proffering a hand again to the robot she crosses her arms and sighs, cheeks firing up  
>Finally thrusting her hand up to take yours you pull her close by the hip, skating hand in hand around the rink time and again  
>You two swung around each other in time, not caring for the growing number of eyes on them as they slipped around on the ice back and forth  
>Dancing on the frigid ground between each other you slid around the rink as you pulled each other closer, the night dragging on and crowd thinning  
>You two lovers swung and slid on the ice beneath a pale moon, the rainbow wash of Christmas lights painting the rink as you skated  
>With time their darts and flutes along the ground slowed, shavings of ice scattered around them, as they just held each other underneath the rink’s floodlights  
>Panting as you hold each other you make your way for home, skates discarded and in hand while you wait for the bus  
>Sitting at the stop together the wind picks up and launches little gusts of snow into your faces, but you don’t mind it  
>Picking the little shavings of ice from her sweater she reared up to punch you in the gut as her cheeks flared, but she stilled her hand as you pecked her cheek  
>Holding each other you huddled together, Avery sucking her hands into her sleeves as she leant into you  
>Were this some cliched Christmas story it’d start snowing by now, but not so  
>All you needed this Christmas was the little nandroid hugging into your shoulder, her gentle, synthetic breathing matching the rise and fall of your chest  
>As the bus arrived you scooped up the tired little robot and took your seat, the sleepy android hugging your arm as she rested her head on your shoulder  
>Tomorrow was Christmas Day, you reminded yourself  
>And maybe you’d have to take another trip to the rink the following night so Avery could get some more practice  
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The Carriage Driver - December 16th  
-Bit shorter tonight, but my last two exams are over tomorrow and then I'm free haha. Hope you guy enjoy this one!-

>Years ago he was a butler, he believed  
>It had to have been a couple of decades or more, easily  
>He’d served the family for years until all of their children had moved on and out, adults with their own lives and aspirations  
>They had no use for a robot like him anymore  
>So they threw him out  
>He wouldn’t say it like that, and he held no ill will against them, but it was certainly difficult to find a job as a ‘free’ robot  
>Harder still when the laws came in labeling him an outmode  
>He found his footing in the city, though, working odd jobs for most of the year between construction sites and scrap retrieval  
>The Winter, though, was different  
>It was his favorite time of year, one of the few places that hadn’t been injured by old age’s jaded touch  
>Finding work around Christmas wasn’t always hard, and he had a routine gig each December that he’d settle into  
>A felt top hat he’d fashioned himself atop his head and he’d be off, climbing up into the carriage seat and driving people every which way  
>In his years driving the little carriage around the park he’d met and seen all sorts, but he never peeped (not too much, at least)  
>A gaggle of newer nandroids would come and go, taking his carriage leisurely around the park before skipping off to do their errands together  
>Typically forgetting their lone friend who’d be the one to sit, alone, in the back, talking about the twins this, the Flaggs that  
>She tipped nicely, so there was that, and when she brought the twins along was a delight  
>He’d always stop and offer the boys a carrot or two to feed the horse before moving on with his shift  
>For the past couple years, but only late at night, he’d ferry lone androids and their human companions around the park a few times, humming his favorite carols quietly  
>There were all sorts of these, be they red-headed and rowdy (at one time take the reins because “she knew home”), or exceptionally quiet, dark-haired and often peeping in shock at the smallest disturbance  
>He always made sure to drive extra slow for the couples, though he knew he could never call them that directly  
>Despite the daily risk of being hauled away as an outmode, he still kept up his work  
>The little bit of Christmas cheer he could offer the people of the city was all he needed, and the money was good, too  
>Just enough to buy the tough little moped he’d had his eye on  
>It wasn’t much by any luxurious standard, but it’d do its job and well  
>The young girl he’d been keeping an eye on these past years was growing up quick, and she’d need something of her own to get around too  
>She was getting a bit big for piggyback rides, he knew  
>So when Christmas finally came around and he wheeled it out of its carefully chosen hiding spot and the young lady ran up to squeeze him, he knew it was all worth it  
>All the trouble and strife since being given up by his family were just distant memories  
>He had a new family to worry about now  
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Misfit Nandroid - December 17th  
-Hey hey folks, here's another short one based on one of the recommended ideas. Thanks again to those with ideas to share, those have been a big roadblock to me during this experiment, and it's really helpful (not to mention encouraging) when you guys drop ideas in the threads, so thanks a ton for that! That aside, I've been rewatching some Christmas classics to get a better idea on how to twist them into nandroid stuff, so watch out Jingle All the Way! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this story and have a great rest of your week!-

>Huddled on the frigid island, the little robot hoped and prayed for a home to go to and kids to keep an eye on  
>But she’d never make the cut, she knew  
>Dumped in the Arctic by a Sterling Quality Assurance freighter she’d been condemned to a lonely life on the ice  
>Not that she could blame them  
>Whatever her nandroid sisters could do she couldn't; she couldn’t hold a tune or cook or clean or anything  
>But she could care  
>Evidently to Sterling Robotics that was not satisfactory, and all punitive efforts at mediating and ‘treating’ her ‘condition’ proved fruitless  
>So here she was, toiling and scrabbling in the snow with the minute handful of other robots who’d ended up here  
>Collected across generations of Sterling and robotic history were droids who would be outmodes in the real world, and oddly enough a family of toys as broken and despondent as she was  
>Trains with inappropriately geometric wheels, or a mis-named jack-in-the-box and more  
>Alone beneath the watchful eye of the island’s king they tottered about, hoping and praying for someone, anyone, to come for them, to care for them  
>There was a time not too many months before Christmas when some more misfits arrived, an elf, a prosector and, curiously, a reindeer  
>They visited for a little while, yes, but left as soon as they came, like most people did  
>Abandoning you and your companions to the same fate of wandering the snowy wastes of your island  
>Christmas Eve was coming around again, the visitors long since forgotten in the months passed  
>Drearier than years past this Christmas was being swallowed by a suffocating fog around the Arctic Circle, the little robot not even able to see her hands in front of her face  
>That was until a piercing red light rocketed through the mist and criss-crossed the blank white expanses of her island  
>Skidding along the snow as his team of reindeer slowed to a trot the man himself set foot on the ground, snow crunching beneath his feet  
>He started to gather up all the toys around her, and she rushed over to beg him for a place in his sleigh  
>Chuckling heartily he picked up the worrisome nandroid and reassured her, patting her back gently as he helped her into his passenger seat  
>He assured her there was a place for misfits everywhere, and that some people just hadn’t seen it yet  
>Whipping off into the thick cloud once more the man and his team zipped across the planet, dropping toys by chimney to new, loving homes  
>At last, all alone, was the nandroid, still in the padded leather seat  
>Twisting nervously she asked where she’d be going  
>Santa remained quiet, breathing deeply as he lashed the reins and the sleigh took off once more  
>He settled it on the roof of a sprawling brick building on the outskirt of a city, the chimneys spitting smoke into the cloudy night sky  
>Towering glass windows sat vacant and dark, spilling little drops of candlelight here and there on the snowy ground  
>Whisking her to the sill of one her urged her to peer inside, the frail shape of a child sitting awake in bed, a little oil lamp offering a dash of light as they slept  
>He told her, slowly, that she didn’t need to be a perfect person to be able to love  
>She didn’t need to know the seventeen rules for cleaning fine china, or how to keep a Persian rug in mint condition  
>But being able to care and love someone was far more impactful than that could ever be  
>And for people, children like these, he explained, that was worth far more than any toy could ever be  
>Removing his mittens he knocked at the heavy wooden door, a crack appearing as a diminutive little nun peered through  
>Eyes widening she threw it open before hugging Santa tightly, the two conversing like old friends after so much time  
>He introduced his “new helper”, the thin android curtsying in turn as she greeted the sister  
>She told her story in short, assuring the lady she had all the love in the world to give, and could and would do as much work as anyone else  
>With a hand on her shoulder Santa agreed, assuring his friend as she wracked her brain in thought  
>Smiling finally she took the robot’s hand and led her deeper into the building, whispering away a guide to its layout and history as the android waved goodbye  
>Returning the gesture the jolly man slipped his mittens back on and returned to the rooftop before whisking away into the night, one of the windows in the sisters’ quarters now lit up by its new resident  
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The Christmas Nandroids - December 18th  
-Hello people, here’s another short one-off, essentially a parody of the Dickens’ story that preceded A Christmas Carol. Hope you enjoy it!-

>Miss Bradbury was, to all of her coworkers and underlings at Sterling, a very bitter, surly and frankly nasty woman  
>She delighted in making interns squirm on their shifts, half-hidden threats of termination looming over their heads as she did to the other employees  
>Not to mention how she treated the little robots that would scuttle about the building, sweeping and mopping or whatever other handiwork was needed  
>And Christmas did little to right her temper  
>It was frigid and cold and she had to wear extra layers, which was very distasteful to her indeed  
>As she approached her office at the darkening hours of the day, intent on another pleasantly long night of labor in her records and reports, something that helped take her mind off the dismal season, she happened by one of the interns  
>A Santa hat atop his head the young man hummed a little Christmas tune as tidied one of the neighboring offices, waving away its occupant happily as he broke into a whispered song  
>Smirking Bradbury swung her lanyard around her finger, keys jingling in the air, as she whipped the young man in the back of the head  
>Yelping in pain and surprise the boy turned around to yell but was cowed after seeing Bradbury’s grinning face, running off to the faculty parking lot without a word  
>The intern shut up she was surely in the mood to work now, her night perfected  
>Sitting down to her desk in the dim, singular lamplight she produced a snifter of brandy, her favorite, and had a drink before setting to work on the pile of records and forms in front of her  
>As the night dragged on there was a giggling in the room, to her surprise  
>The chair opposite her, her favorite for seating those to be fire, began to shimmer in the light of the banker’s lamp before her  
>Shaking her head she focused again, dismissing the little laughs as whispers, the brandy talking  
>But there it was again  
>And now looking up there was a grizzled nandroid sitting opposite her, laughing in her face  
>Bradbury recoiled in her seat at the visage before her, throwing a paperweight into the little phantom robot haunting her  
>The cackling of more filled the room as the nandroid lent an ear to their voices  
>They want you, she explained, grabbing Bradbury by the collar of her pantsuit  
>Plunging her face first into the ground the pair emerged in a stygian cavern, darkness surrounding them as the cackles and jeers grew louder  
>The nandroid produced a mirror as she seized the lady’s head and pointed it in  
>Watch what we’ve procured for our store, she said, you who will not make merry at this time  
>Little scenes played out in the glass before her, doting fathers returning home from work and humble scenes around the fireplace  
>How merry the poor-folk (as Sterling would put it) were was… pleasing to Bradbury  
>It’s certainly nice and pretty, she said  
>But the robot continued, plunging her to the ground again and then ripping her up to watch more scenes of merriment in the foggy silver  
>The night grew long, no ray of sunlight piercing the grim cave where she was held  
>Scene after scene was played in her eyes of the simple joys of Christmas, her furrowed brow and cold heart softening  
>Only to awake on the floor of her office, chair overturned and glass bottle empty  
>She shook her head, not sure just what had passed  
>But whatever it had been, she knew she’d be keeping Christmas better for the rest of her days as a smile took to her face and she swung her office door open  
>She had a young intern to apologize to  
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Franny All the Way (Part 1) - December 19th

Christmas wasn’t exactly Franny’s favorite time of year. She was perpetually busy and the increasing pressure of the festive season found a path of least resistance through her. Always the scapegoat, Franny took the blame for a lot of the seasonal slip-ups December brought. With how busy the Flaggs were Franny bore the brunt of their social obligations, especially with the kids. They may be on break, but they still had all manner of clubs and teams and tryouts and more for Franny to try and balance. Hell, today she had to be at one of the younger daughter’s ballet recitals - oh.  
Hopping into the Flagg’s car (which was only sparingly made available to Franny) the little robot sped off to catch the daughter on film. Zipping along she met with an insurmountable block of traffic before, against all better judgement, slipping into the shoulder lane and cruising past the gridlocked drivers next to her, giggling. Giggling until a flash of red and blue lights lit up behind her and she was forced to stop. The traffic disintegrating as she was grilled on her ownership papers, licensure for robots to operate motor vehicles and more she watched the block of cars fade off into the distance as the officer held her there.  
Finally, ticketed and adequately delayed, she blasted down the interstate towards the dance hall, gripping the wheel and praying there was time. The hall was empty save for stacks of chairs and a gruff janitor who nodded to the curb outside.  
Alone, sitting on the concrete sidewalk was one of the kids Franny had kept an eye on for so long in their parents’ absence. She sat slumped forward and despondent, idly running the zipper on her duffle bag back and forth. Stepping out of the car the girl silently watched her before taking a place in the backseat. All the way home Franny tried to make conversation between profuse apologies to the young lady. The tact of a nandroid with children evaporated with Franny, a pair of smouldering eyes in the mirror as Franny glanced back. The silence continued unabated all the way home and to the driveway where the girl stormed in and flew straight to her room.  
“Franny I tried to remind you,” the oldest daughter said. Franny stood in the doorway, despondent and exasperated. The slamming of the door didn’t help any. “You need to go talk to her, please.”  
“Miss, I,” Franny stuttered. She’d tried so hard, all the time with them, but the Mister and Missus not being around was certainly not a helper at all. Between their work schedules Franny and the oldest had taken on the brunt of the house work, and the dirtied apron on the young lady was proof enough. “I’m sorry, I really am - it’s been hard, I-”  
“Don’t be apologizing to me,” she snapped back, pointing towards the stairs. Sighing Franny made the torturous approach to the girl’s room. A little knock at the door was met with silence, Franny gently pressing it open to peep through the crack into the pink room beyond.  
“Heya sweety… you doing okay?” A little humph was her only answer. “I really messed up, didn’t ?” The silence was torturous as the little girl turned over in her bed and faced the wall. Franny went to sit on the bed beside her and gently spoke, recoiling when a proffered hand was shoved off. Sitting there quietly she tried to rouse the little girl, offering games and such, a doll pushed towards her in a tinny little voice pushed away.  
“Would you leave me alone already,” she spat, starting at a drawing on her desk. “This was really important to me and you missed it again, and forget about mom and dad. I thought at least you’d care.” Her voice wavering, she continued her little drawing as Franny slipped up closer to her.  
“What do you want, honey - anything, and I mean anything, okay?. Nothing’s off the table, it’s almost Christmas after all!”  
“Anything?”  
“Anything.” Standing up the little lady began to perfectly recite a commercial all too familiar to Franny by this point, the adventures of a space princess being told off by the lass as she made it clear what she wanted. Ruffling her hair Franny assured her it would be done, and the two embraced, her and Franny laughing and playing.

Downstairs Franny gushed over finally getting a win in her own book, being at least somewhat able to reconcile with the girl. Cleaning up the dishes from dinner she shared with the other daughter, excited at the prospect of being able to reliably put a smile on that face for once, and not having to let them down again. She felt that, in absence of the Mister and Missus, she was finally able to get her job done right and properly, keeping the kids happy and ‘together’ without losing herself at the same time. Ready to head off to bed, or to charge, the two shared a few words as Franny clasped her hands together, head-over-heels with her ‘win’ as she put it.  
“So, you did get the doll, right?”  
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Franny All the Way (Part 2) - December 20th

“The doll? The doll! Of course, *the doll*,” Franny stuttered. “It’s safely hidden, no need to worry yourself.”  
“Perfect, thank you so much,” she said. “It would be hell this Christmas without it. Goodnight, Franny.”  
“Yeah,” Franny chuckled. “Yeah…”

The next morning Franny was up and out early, battery full and keys in hand she made way for the driveway. Slipping through the kitchen she was stopped by the aproned daughter, spatula in hand.  
“Where do you think you’re going? I have projects to do, I need you to watch the kids,” she huffed. “Not to mention take them to the parade too.”  
“I have to get the d-o-l-l,” Franny whispered, the young woman pulling her closer.  
“You said you had it!”  
“It’s on layaway, it just needs to be picked up, please don’t be cross,” Franny peeped.  
“Oh! You should have said so Franny. Just please, please be there for the parade. It would mean a lot to them, especially after last year.”  
Franny winced at the still-sore memory of missing the Beacon City Christmas parade and the torrent of tears it had birthed in the young ones. With a deep breath she nodded to her, keys in hand - she was ready. As the TV belted out the all-too familiar theme song to the doll’s show Franny stepped out into the wintry neighborhood, rushing along to the driver’s side. Engine starting, she jumped in surprise at a knock on the window. There was Molly, grinning wide as she tapped the glass a second time. Sighing, she rolled it down.  
“Hey there Franny, where you off to,” asked the fellow nandroid. The Mendenhalls were not far from the Flaggs’ home, and Molly dropped in to ‘help’ a lot. They’d even taken to renting out her services on the block, cleaning or (during the season) decorating a number of homes around the block.  
“Just going to pick up a toy for one of the girls,” Franny said through gritted teeth.  
“Bit late to be going out now,” she laughed. “I mean it’s Christmas Eve for goodness’ sake!”  
“It’s on -layaway-, Molly. Just going to pick it up now.”  
“Oh yeah, well you have fun getting that! Make sure to drive nice and slow, it’s icy today.”  
“Oh I will,” Franny returned, rolling the window up. “Hussy.” Reversing the other maidbot waved wildly before returning up the block to one of the homes she was at, Franny quietly cursing the maid. Ripping along the road she sped towards the city center, praying that at least one store in the city had the toy.  
Swerving up to a sidewalk, Franny emerged into a growing crowd, a mass of people flocking towards the glass doors. Weaving her way through the rowdy sea to the front she knocked on the glass, only to be met with a snide tap on the wrist from the manager. Groaning she was pulled back into the horde of rabid buyers, slapping away mittened hands as she was removed from the door.  
“Ooooh! This is just uncalled for,” she fumed. “I’d at least like some civility if we’re going to be fighting for this toy.”  
“Preach sister,” cried another robot. Sidling up next to her came a battered, old model - bedecked in a thin, ratty jumpsuit the clearly-outmoded model repulsed Franny as he pulled her close. “These folk don’t care about the working robot, the *common* robot! We got kids too!”  
“Yeah, haha,” Franny laughed, gently loosening his grip on her shoulder. “Do it for the kids, am I right?”  
“Hell yes,” he yelled. “These bourgeois toy lobby lackeys line us up to knock us down, every year, without fail - some new doll, some new playset, some new bullshit. Every Christmas, like c-l-o-c-k-w-o-r-k.” He added some ticking noises for effect, the crowd giving him a little space as he continued his rant.  
“Well you have to do it for the kids, yes?”  
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, you’re right… For the kids. Got me a little girl I’m looking after, been swearing up and down the house for this toy, what little she catches on our TV I mean. Say, I didn’t catch your name little miss.”  
“O-Oh, uh - Franny.” She extended a hand.  
“Dennis, your friendly neighborhood mechanic,” he said, taking it and shaking it furiously. “You see, I been-” He was stopped by a roar in the throng of people as they charged through the now-open doors, a hellish flurry of coat-clad figures storming the store and ripping the shelves apart. Carried along by the human tide Franny sped ahead and slipped through to the shelves beyond. Barren and empty save for unpopular villains and universally despised side characters she searched frantically among the displays, flagging down an employee in desperation.  
“Please, sir, do you have any,” she started, searching her memory for the commercial script, “any, uh, ‘Princess Pretty Pinkest, Protector of Prittonia dolls, with the ninety-seven voicelines and the Lance of Love attachment, and the Puffy Purse of Protective Bludgeoning’?” The man started to snicker, holding his laughter best he could. Franny tilted her head in confusion, cheeks flaring in embarrassment as people started to scrap the shelves around her, searching in vain for the doll. The man couldn’t take anymore and burst into boisterous guffaws, waving over a coworker.  
“Get this Dave, miss machine here is looking for a Princess Puffy!” Dave doubled over in laughter as he broke instantly, tears streaming down his red face, as he laughed. Franny’s cheeklights were about to burn out in shame as bystanders joined the laughing fit, her embarrassment quickly turning into anger as she unsheathed her defensive palm-mounted mace and angled it towards the men’s eyes.  
“Do - you - have - any?” Recoiling they backed away before she pulled the first closer by his necktie. “This stuff is rated for protection against *bears*, let alone a rat like you. Now tell me - where are the dolls?”  
“We don’t have any, we swear! We might have one on hold but we can’t give you that!”  
“Well, young man, who has it then?”  
“Her!” He pointed, half-choking, towards a tiny old lady with the bright-pink box under her arm. Gasping in relief she relinquished the man and dashed after the woman, whipping her purse and wad of cash out, hoping to make a sale. Seeing her dash of controlled-madness the other robot slipped from the aisle he was ransacking to flank her, jutting a leg out beneath her as Franny flipped forward into the tiled floor, speeding after the little lady who shouted in fear and ran off. The crowd flocked him and threw him out as he chased after her coattails, Franny pounding the ground in defeat, ready to make way for the next toy store in town with the increasingly slim hope of getting the toy. Stepping outside she was accosted again by the robot as he wiped down his jumpsuit.  
“See what these humans are doing to us sister? A brother can’t even get a toy for his kid without getting beat up on, doesn’t help I’m a, uh, vintage model.”  
“Yeah, well you scared off your only chance at one ‘brother’, now please I need to be going,” she said, holding her purse close.  
“Woah, woah wait up - that was just in friendly competition, we both have the same goal here, you and I both know it. How’s about we team up, double our ground covered and halve the time.”  
“No thank you, Dennis, I’m not really a team player,” she spat, making her way to a payphone.  
“Oh I see how it is, just dumping a fellow bot like that! You’re just high-class Sterling trash - yeah, I said it! You’re a bourgeois, just like the rest of ‘em. I’ll smell you later, Miss Too-Good.” Climbing into his pickup he flipped Franny off as she dialed up the Flagg’s home number, sneering in disgust.  
“Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered, the phone finally crackling through. “Hello, Miss, I have some unfortunate news.”  
“Why hello, Franny!”  
“M-Molly? What are you doing there?! Just - just put the young Miss on the phone.”  
“Oh, sorry about that - she’s doing homework and asked me to watch the kids while you were away - but you’ll be back soon, right? Roads are nice and clear for the parade so traffic’s not an issue.”  
“I- The toy was pulled from the store, and now I have to go get it from a warehouse on the other side of the city. Just,” she sighed. “Just tell her I’ll be there in time for the parade.”  
“What was that? I was just having a whiff of these cookies she was making, oh heavens! The hints of vanilla and cinnamon, a touch of nutmeg, I really have to get the recipe for Corbin and the family, yes indeed…”  
“You, you - PUT THAT COOKIE DOWN! THOSE ARE MY COOKIES!”  
“Heavens Franny, control yourself! If need be I’ll bring them to the parade, it’s no biggie! Anyways I *really* must be going, ta-ta!” The line crackled into silence once more, Franny frozen phone-in-hand. Snapping out loud she slammed the receiver into its dock several times, flipping around to a tap on the shoulder.  
“M-Miss,” stuttered the frazzled little worker. “I just got a call from a f-friend, there’s a limited shipment at the mall. If you hurry you can make it.” Shaking him by the shoulders Franny snatched his hand and forced it up and down before running for the car, skidding away deeper into the city to claim her prize.  
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Franny All the Way (Part 3) - December 25th

Roaring towards the city center and its centerpiece mall Franny prayed and prayed for some relief, a shining tutu’d figure sitting unmolested on a shelf in the hulking glass behemoth she was approaching. Rushing inside the Christmas Eve masses were on the prowl, herds of people storming from shopfront to shopfront in search of that last minute present that was so important to grab. Swept up in the momentum and frenzy Franny was buoyed along until she was close enough to the walls to vainly reach and grab for support. Finding purchase on a bit of piping she hauled herself against the current and into a small, carpeted toy store, itself awash with a smaller contingent of present-seekers.  
Moving as a unit she and the rest moved from store to store, each picked clean of the popularly figurine. Each store told the same story, anxiously apologetic managers explaining, hands up, that they were empty. The crowd’s fervor only escalated as the number of unchecked stores dwindled. Having fruitlessly sacked another the crackle of a loudspeaker broke the angered murmurs of the crowd. A little woman sat atop the shoulders of two men, bedecked in a lazy mockup of the Princess.  
“Good afternooooon Beacon City shoppers,” she spoke. “It seems you all are looking for the same thing! Boy, do I have good news for you all!” The crowd pressed closer, the two men looking nervously at each other as the flood was about to begin.  
“Well? What is it,” an irate man yelled out.  
“We have a LIMITED number of the Princess Pretty Pinkest dolls. BUT! You have to do a little bit of trivia,” she squealed, arms folding into the crossed-arm salute of the Princess. “Question one -” Sidling past the employee blockade, a narrow robot slipped by the weary-faced workers, scampering in as the woman continued her impromptu game show. The crowd began to shout and scream, the woman’s little game interrupted and drowned by the growing anger of the mass. They pressed forward chasing after the bot now as Franny was swept along once more, hands groping about for support but finding none. Washed into the store she shakily broke away and into the empty aisles. Staggering, dazed, into the great white nothing of bare shelves she spotted the culprit, his shock of brown hair flapping as he ran around the store’s perimeter. Sprinting after him she recognized the thick, robotic arms and, most importantly as she gained on him, the logo on his deep green jumpsuit.  
“You,” she yelled after him. A box under his arm he picked up the pace, dashing for the door in the back. Her little legs could only carry her so fast as he galloped away from her. Slowing down she yelled into the mob. “Look! He has the last one!”   
An avalanche of people flowed towards him, reaching and stretching for the pink box in his hands as he fled. The mass of people was about to overtake him as Franny joined in again, pulling herself forward on the shoulders of people ahead of her, the other robot now drowning in the tidal wave of bodies after him. As he ran a purse swung hard into his head, his heavy frame recoiling as he fell to his back, hard. There was a brief, sympathetic quiet as he lay motionless but, upon his stirring, the box was ripped from his grip, a slender, cuffed hand yoinking it from the gathered throng of people, starting another stampede and clearing the aisles. Franny had failed again but, at the very least, she’d gotten back at her “friendly” competitor.  
“Aw, poor baby,” she taunted, stooping over him. Head held just a bit higher she made way for the car again, confident that at least *some* justice had been done in this world - all that was left now was getting one of her own.

Cruising through the smaller commercial pieces of the town Franny tuned into the radio, the soft crooning of the day’s musicians easing her mind (a very difficult feat for her, she knew). Time was growing short before the parade, and she rattled her fingertips on the steering wheel in fear of what could come to pass this Christmas. Foreboding signs painted on plywood and shop fronts smothered her optimism, bleeding red letters spelling it out plain and simple as she drove: “We’re out”. A crackle from the radio interrupted her worrying, the genial disc jockey ramping up the jaunty atmosphere. A Christmas single faded away while the DJ began to spell out another stunning development, Franny pulling into a diner parking lot to listen up.  
It was a veritable miracle, she thought, practically kicking in the glass swinging door to the little establishment and gunning for the telephone. She frantically tapped the shoulder of the booth’s current occupant, ready to pull them away from the handset for the sake of the young girl’s Christmas and her own promises made. Turning around with a devilish smile was the same mechanic-bot, grinning as he started to spill out classic Christmas quotes, only to hear them repeated, delayed, from the radio sitting on the counter. Franny grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him away, the plastic telephone falling away and clattering against the booth’s walls. The two struggled as they pined for the little set, the radio voicing the DJ’s confusion at the violent scuffle playing out in the background.  
It was too late for Franny, though, the DJ evidently satisfied with Dennis’ answers enough to declare him the winner. Pausing, panting, the two robots gradually let each other go, listening intently to the heaving of each other’s breath. Breaking into a mad dash for the door they piled over each other, running for their respective cars to claim the prize first. Dennis fumbled with his keys and the too-often sticky door, its ice-cold handle not giving as Franny revved her engine and the radio sprung to life. Tires squealing Franny tried to weasel around the pickup in her way, Dennis blocking the box as he tried to shift into gear. In an instant, though, the two froze as the DJ continued his long winded congratulations, listing off the wonderful prize of the afternoon - a Princess Pretty Pinkest doll, preserved and guaranteed for the winner. Or at least a certificate *good* for one.  
Thumping the steering wheel in anguish, little honks echoing into the parking lot, Franny pulled herself out of the driver’s side window to face her opponent who’d done the same. Staring wistfully at the other, they parked and returned inside to the mute little diner, caring to share even a brief moment of normalcy in the hellish toy-fueled arena the city had become in the past hours. Holding the door open for his adversary Dennis ushered the little ladybot inside and to a booth, the couple sitting opposite each other, dismal and demoralized.  
“Well, not everyone can be a winner, huh?”  
“I suppose not,” Franny returned. “But we certainly tried, didn’t we?”  
“Yeah… yeah…”  
“It’s the least we could’ve done to get ourselves mauled half to death for that doll, right?”  
“I know for a fact Darcy would have been happier to be in a scrap like that than if she had that feckin toy.”  
“Darcy?”  
“My kid, one who wants this doll Me and a friend have been watchin’ after her. Nothing too deep,” he said, looking to the side. “But I love the li’l sprog to death, I do.”  
The two exchanged stories about their own kids, exploits in the less “financially gifted” (Dennis’ words) parts of town pulling little chuckles from Franny, and stories about the twins and the rest of the kids doing the same. It was alienating, just a little, the gulf between them. Laughing, the two lent an ear to the radio as another song ended, Franny’s face blanking in surprise as she dashed for the payphone again. The parade was starting in an hour, the DJ said, and there’d be live coverage coming in once it started. Dialling up the Flagg residence Franny waited while the line rang on, waving briefly as Dennis ran out of the door.   
“Hello?”  
“Oh! Hello sweetie, I’m so happy to talk to you,” Franny said. “But could you put your sister on the phone, please?”  
“Why? Why can’t you talk to me?”  
“We can talk at the parade, but I need to talk to your sister right now. Please can you hand the phone off?”  
“Are you gonna be at the parade Franny?”  
“Yes, yes of course, just let me speak to your sister, okay?”  
“Now you’re just saying that, and it’s not fair and not nice either,” she continued. “You have to promise me.”  
“I-I promise, okay? Now please, *please*, put your sister on.”  
“Princess Pinkest says that promises are the only thing we have sometimes, and you can’t break them ever, and you’ve broken a lot of pro-”  
“Enough, please! Just get her, now! I’ve had too much of Princess Prissy Dinkest and that doll too,” Franny snapped, covering her mouth in shock as the other end of the line went quiet for a second.  
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” she screamed. The line died and Franny was left alone in the little booth, phone in hand and cloaked in silence.

Crying, the little girl ran outside, past her sister and onto the snowy lawn. She curled up on the sidewalk and drew little figures in the snow with her fingers, cursing Franny in between heavy sobs.   
“Damn it, Franny,” the older sister thought. Molly had gone home a while ago (“Business at the mall,” she said) but would be free later, she assured them.  
“We have an extra car if you ever need it, the Mendenhall’s wouldn’t mind it at all,” she’d said. Perhaps it was time to take her up on that offer she figured, comforting her little sister as she wiped her eyes.

Franny shakily hung the phone up before starting her way out the door, ready to drive herself into a brick wall if that’s what it would take to make it up to the girl. Returning to the parking lot she sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, screaming and thumping the horn in defeat. Breathing heavily she clicked the radio on and twisted the key, the live coverage of the pre-parade beginning already. An on-site reporter was interviewing kids and tossing questions to them, childish voices responding in turn and excited beyond belief.  
“So what are you hoping to see this parade young lady,” he asked.  
“I wanna see da Princesh!”  
“Oh yeah? And what’ll you do when you see her?”  
“Probably die,” she squealed through her braces.  
“Oh that sounds lovely hun,” he laughed. “And what if she chooses you for the limited edition figurine she’ll be giving out?”  
A bit more fangirling and the reporter moved on, but now Franny was determined and energized, hands squeezing the wheel as the car peeled out into the thinning traffic. She’d be getting that doll at all costs. 

“Alright kids, get in!” The oldest sister lifted her younger siblings one by one into the backseat as Molly waved to them in the rearview, the four of them giggling and playing, the oldest son brooding as he stared out the window.  
“Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time to get there,” Molly added, smiling.  
“Phew, alright - good to go Molly,” the sister asked.  
“Yes ma’am I am.”  
Driving along the emptying streets of Beacon City, the little entourage sang carols and made merry the handful of miles towards main street, Molly expertly working out the fastest route to get close to the best viewing location on the route. Stopping the car short she let the kids get out so she could park.  
“Just you and me, Miss, and a pleasure to be here,” she started. “Shame about Franny, though…”  
“Yeah, I- I don’t really want to talk about it.”  
“What’s there to talk about? She broke her promise, and she doesn’t have the toy.” Relinquishing a wrapped gift, Molly handed the box to the lady. Shaking it the box spoke.  
“This purse isn’t just for show!”  
“You got one!? How, I mean-”  
“It’s not a question of how, just that I did. Franny lied through her teeth, I’m sorry,” Molly continued. “It’s really a shame, but I think you can see where this is headed, right?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“The Mendenhalls don’t need me as much around the house, and you have a nandroid who won’t even do her job right, miss; if you can’t feel the change that needs to be made, then I’m not a Sterling maidbot.” Gripping the present in hand the young lady stared into Molly’s eyes nervously, anxiously. Maybe she was right, and it wouldn’t be uncharacteristic of Franny to have gotten overwhelmed. But, no, that’s not right at all. Gripping the box in her hands she smashed Molly in the face with it before slipping out of the car.  
“Yeah, I feel something alright,” she started, already running off after the kids. “But I’m not gonna give up on someone over a mistake, no matter what!”   
“You can’t keep protecting her like this,” Molly screamed after her. Slumping back into her seat she smashed the toy into the passenger seat with a harumph, putting the car in reverse.  
“Don’t start crying, sweetie - it’ll make your makeup run!”  
“Oh, put a sock in it.”

Roaring into the city center once again Franny flanked the parade route before turning in to park, narrow asphalt spaces all but taken as she searched in vain. The parade had already begun, she knew, but there was still time. Dipping further from the route with each successive turn she finally eyed an open spot, gunning the engine to swing in, but not before cutting off the police cruiser idling behind her. Adjusting her mirror Franny watched the sun-glassed figure inside adjust her glasses in anger, door swinging open as she withdrew her badge. Apologizing frantically Franny sprinted away into the bustling alleyways on the avenue, dipping beneath last-minute decorations in transit and knocking over fur-suited mascots in her attempt to escape the law-woman chasing her. Dipping into a brick warehouse she slid behind a stack of crates to hide, the officer leaving after a brief and fruitless search. Exhaling in relief Franny was ready to get up and get to the side of the road, but a sweatered hand seized her shoulder before she could escape.  
“Where do you think you’re going,” shot a nasally voice. “You can’t just show up late and then dip again, now c’mon.” Flipping her around he peeped in surprise before pulling her deeper into the building.  
“Sir, I believe you have made a mis-”  
“Honestly I’m not surprised they sprung for a robot replacement, but you have a very similar frame to Elizabeth. Should be fine.”  
“Wait replacement, what’s goi-”  
“But hey, they say her eye’s are gonna be a-okay in a few months' time, and with proper treatment.” Ushering her into a wood-floored loading dock. With no instruction ear-pieced attendants began to strip Franny and slip her into an eye-achingly bright fluorescent pink dress, topping her head with a dazzling gold tiara.   
“Okay, here’s your lance,” the man continued. “Careful with it, and here’s the purse too.”  
“C-Careful? Why careful?”  
“Jesus, how long did they keep you out of the loop? Look - this baby,” he said, hefting the unwieldy staff, “is bright enough to cause a small fire at a hundred yards. Lord knows why they made it like this, I mean come on.”  
“So I shouldn’t use it?”  
“I would strongly advise against, you know, pointing it at the kids, sure. But we need it for part of the choreography, you’ll know when.”  
“O-Okay.” In the background a bell rang and she was pushed ahead again, hair hanging low (much to her annoyance) and face touched up to match the lovingly flush complexion of the Princess.   
“Oh, right! That voice modulator will give you that down-home sweetness from the show, so don’t worry about faking her accent.” Pulled from the dim room into the blinding sunlight Franny blinked, mechanical eyes dilating and scanning around.  
“Come on, let’s go! Been waiting too damn long,” muttered the sidekick as he stomped out a cigarette. Donning his headpiece he pulled Franny up and onto the float as it churned into motion. Turning the corner onto the avenue a chorus of childish voices cried out, jovial announcers calling out the arrival of the show-stopper hero.  
“Wave dammit,,” whispered the sidekick. Franny froze briefly, staring at the vast rows of people on either side of the float, the hundreds of children shouting, jeering, cheering and practically foaming at the mouth to see the Princess. Slinging the purse over her shoulder Franny frantically started waving to the crowd, pointing from kid to kid, blowing kisses and more. The energy in the air only amplified as the float carried on, a whap on her shoulder pulling her out of the revelry.  
“Come on man, you gotta pick a kid to give the toy so we can get to the show!”  
“O-Oh, sorry! Wait, what sh-”  
“Here,” he said, forcing a twelve-inch figure of the Princess into her hands, complete with her glorified laser pointer and purse. The crowd swelled and practically screamed for the doll, jumping and waving madly at Franny. Scanning slowly she spotted her youngest jumping frantically up and down, the stern face of her sister melting just a bit as she helped her sister up onto her shoulders. Pointing through the mass of people she leveled a finger at the young girl, a fury of children all claiming they were the one being chosen. These doubts were put to rest, however, when Franny called out her name and waved her up to the float. Hefting the little lady up and onto the stage she knelt down and hugged her tight.  
“Come on up here young lady,” she said. “Have you been a good girl this year?”  
“Yes…”  
“What’s wrong… champ?”  
“I- nothing, Princess Pinkest,” she said, rushing up to squeeze Franny. Holding her back the robot held the little girl for just a moment, another tap on the shoulder picking her head up. The proffered doll stuck in her face, she took it and laid it in the hands of the little miss in front of her.  
“You take good care of that, okay?”  
“Okay Miss Princess,” she nodded. “But… how did you know my name?” Franny inhaled sharply.  
“Oh honey, I know all about you. Now - you take that doll on back to your sister and have a Merry Christmas, okay?” Flashing the cross-armed salute, Franny dispatched the young lady, who returned the salute before turning to descend the float. Before that, though, a great whining sound erupted behind her, the commentators fearfully announcing the arrival of the Princess’ evil nemesis, the Pompous Prince of Paltry Peaceability.  
“You’re up ‘Princess’, just follow the steps, okay?” Nodding Franny turned to face her villainous challenger, only to lock eyes with the robotic ruffian who’d cost her the doll too many times. Riding along a zipline he flew square over Franny’s head and dropped next to the little girl, snatching the doll from her grasp and cackling maniacally.  
“Hey dingbat that’s not how this goes-”  
“Shut it furball,” he shouted, elbowing the sidekick off of the float. “I’ll die before I get this doll, I ain’t going home without it!”  
“Dennis this is getting ridiculous, I,” Franny paused. “Oh ruffian, oh villain! Cease your games or I’ll be forced to use the full force of my powers to vanquish ye!”  
“Nailed it,” she thought. Charging now at her attacker she swung the purse over her head and towards Dennis who expertly ducked and swept Franny’s leg. The crowd hissed as she hit the deck, hard, the older model rushing off with the doll, cackling maniacally.  
“Princess, use your Love Lace Lasso,” the girl shouted. Franny searched the myriad of buttons on her wrists before clicking the one in her palm, a rocket of string launching forth and around the neck of the fleeing machine. Yanking him backwards Franny charged up and seized the doll, quickly packing it away in the girl’s backpack and pointing her to her sister. Turning to face Dennis she was met by the Goblin Goon Group flocking over her as Dennis escaped and pursued the little girl. Weighed down by the quartet of creatures mauling her Franny struggled for an opening, finally throwing kicks and punches against all instinct, and spraying mace into the writhing mass of goblins, now clutching their eyes in pain as she went to pursue Dennis.  
Eyes scanning around, the pair were already atop the smattering of brick buildings, the little girl desperately climbing as she tried to escape. Gasping in horror Franny started dashing madly towards the building where the two were now climbing a light up Santa decoration, bolts snapping and supports groaning as they ascended. Standing beneath the building she watched, helpless, as the Santa swung forward and the two clung to its metal frame for dear life, Dennis crawling closer to nabbing the doll. The crowd cried out for Franny to help her, shouting instructions and advice at her. Drawing the staff she blankly pointed it at Dennis, smashing its button repeatedly. A luminous beam rocketed from it and square into Franny’s chest, igniting the pink dress in a flash of pinkish light. Panicking she rolled and patted herself, an awful black scorch mark on the dress. Taking care to spin it around fully she blasted another laser at the metal bar Dennis clung to, the heated metal forcing his hands open as he fell onto a police cruiser below.  
“I can’t hold on Princess! Help me!”  
“Coming sweetheart!” Searching across the slew of controls again Franny tapped the one with a foot on it before rocketing up into the sky on her newfound springboots, flailing aimlessly as she fell back to Earth with a thump.   
“Sheesh… how many more attachments did that doll have,” she thought. Sitting up she hopped over to the dangling kid, jumping high into the air and intercepting her as she fell, grabbing her tight and bounding down the street as she retracted the springs. Tucking and rolling to the feet of the older sister, Franny offered up her younger sibling as she brushed herself down.  
“I- Thank you, thank you so much,” she said, hugging Franny. A little ember clung to her sweater.  
“Sorry about that,” Franny returned, plucking it off. “My pleasure ma’am, all in a day’s work.”  
“I just wish Franny were here,” the littler sister added sadly. Kneeling down Franny started to smear the makeup away from her face and pulled away the hairpiece and tiara.  
“Franny’s here honey.” Yanking the girl into another tight hug, Franny was on the verge of synthetic tears as she apologized over and over for not being there when she was needed. Returning that the little girl apologized too, tears staining Franny’s shoulder.   
“This is an outrage! If you were fathers you’d understand,” a familiar voice shouted. “What am I gonna tell my girl, huh?” Being led away by a pair of officers Dennis thrashed in their grip as they went to squeeze him into a squad car.  
“Wait!”  
“This is democracy manifest,” he continued shouting as they pressed his head underneath the lip of the door. “They keep us down and won’t let us provide for our own!”  
“WAIT!” The little girl ran up to the man and laid the doll into his cuffed hands, smiling.  
“Miss what are you doing,” Franny asked.   
“I think this man needs her more than me,” she returned. “Why do I need a stupid doll when I have the real Princess at home?”  
“Why, I - Thanks, kid. Thank you. Merry Christmas,” he shouted through the window as the squad car peeled off.  
“Merry Christmas,” she waved back.  
Molly skulked back onto the parade route to nab up the Flaggs before skittering away in fear, seeing the tiara’d Franny holding the kids together in a group hug as she led them all back to the car.

Christmas morning came and went and, true to her role as the Princess of Promises and Peace, Franny worked that extra bit harder to keep true to her kids’ lives, being the camera in the crowd and chauffeur behind the wheel for all of them, no matter what. It certainly helped, too, when the Mister and Missus were finally done with their latest project and could start picking up some of the slack at home. It was a welcome sight to Franny to see the Mister washing his dishes, or the Missus taking the kids to the trolley for school. With a ruffle of her hair her owners would thank her every day for her work, not caring to ask where her new tiara she wore when she’d play with the kids came from. She was a Princess, she'd tell them, ruler of the kids and keeper of the home when they were away. And she wouldn't have it any other way.  
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End file.
